The Only Language I Don’t Speak Is Jerkish

I’m a polyglot; I speak Polish, English, German, and Spanish. I was born in Poland and currently live in Spain.

Back in the days when I used to work as the head waiter in a restaurant and bar in Spain, in the absence of my boss or manager, I was in charge.

This happened in the middle of the week during a pretty slow day. A middle-aged couple sat down at one of the tables outside. Already, seeing them through the window, I could tell they weren’t locals. Once I got closer, I heard them speaking Polish, but they started to speak English to me and asked for a menu in English, to which I obliged.

I don’t always talk to foreign customers in their language if I know it. I can tell from the start how they will behave and their attitude, and I could tell that these two were the entitled type of customers. Boy, was I spot on.

They had been talking pretty loudly at their table, making fun of other clients and, in general, being rude — all in Polish, of course. After a few minutes, they waved me down.

Me: “Are you ready to order?”

Couple: “We don’t understand this menu. Can you explain it to us?”

As the restaurant was basically empty, I tried to explain everything they wanted to know — still in English, though. After around five minutes of explaining half of the menu:

Couple: “We can’t understand you. We want someone who speaks clear English or, even better, Polish!”

Besides my colleague at the bar, I was the only waiter, so I tried to explain it to them, but they cut me off and DEMANDED someone who spoke their language or clear English.

Me: *Smiling* “I’ll see if I can bring someone over who can help you out better.”

I went inside. Before going in, I heard them talking about me, wondering out loud how stupid someone could be to not be able to explain a menu.

I took my sweet, sweet time inside with the air conditioning on. I talked for a minute or two with my colleague at the bar and then went to the kitchen and had a snack and a laugh with the cooks.

Eventually, I came out again, and they weren’t happy. As soon as they saw me, the woman sighed and said with a smile to her husband/boyfriend in Polish:

Woman: “Look, the r****d is coming back.”

With the best “F*** you” smile I could manage to bring to my face, I looked straight at them and said in pure, beautiful, and clear Polish:

Me: “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

As to be expected, they went pale white in a second. Still smiling at them, I asked if they want me to explain the menu to them. After the initial shock, the man looked at me and asked angrily:

Man: “Why didn’t you tell us you speak Polish?!”

Me: *Smiling calmly* “You never asked.”

This answer apparently was the wrong one as he got really pissed at me. Red in the face, he was a few centimeters from mine when he stood up.

Fun fact: I’m tall — 189 cm or 6’2”. The guy was at least 30 cm (12 inches) shorter than me, which meant he had to look up at me.

Man: “I want to speak to your manager, and he’d better speak coherent English.”

I smiled even more.

Me: “Of course, sir. I will call him immediately.”

And went inside. You know where this is going.

After a minute or two, I came back out with the brightest grin of my life. They looked at me, dumbfounded, while in the best and cleanest version of the American English I was forcibly taught back in school, I said:

Me: “Hello. I am the manager. How can I help you?”

Let me tell you that they flipped the f*** out while I calmly stood there waiting for them to calm down. They never did. They packed their stuff and left.

After they left, I even paid their bill which was one whole Euro for a water bottle. I could handle such a loss in my finances. They left me a nasty review on Facebook which was quickly explained and answered BY ME, saying, “Next time, make sure your waiter speaks your language.” The review was taken down a couple of hours later.