Rosetta Stoned

So, after three months spent living out of a backpack, last Thursday I left Mexico.

My flight itinerary was as follows:

Tuxtla-Mexico City-Los Angeles

The following is a dated account of what transpired.

3:45 pm- Arrive at the airport.

5:45 pm- Airline announces flight has been delayed.

The agent tells me I will likely miss my connecting flight. He gives me two options:

1-Take my chances and hope the other flight has also been delayed.

2- Reroute my flight as follows: Tuxtla-Mexico City-Cancun-Atlanta-Buenos Aires-Bangkok-The Ganges-15th Century Europe-Wherever Dances With Wolves was filmed-Igloolik, Nunavut-Los Angeles

According to the Mayan calendar, I should be in L.A. shortly before the end of the world.

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Because I’m an Eskimo racist  (no offense), I choose the first one.

11:15 pm-Arrive in Mexico City.

I ask the man at the counter where the connecting gate is. He tells me to walk six miles down, then turn right. He doesn’t tell me that the flight left an hour earlier.

11:45 pm- Customer Service Agent re-books me for next flight, leaving at 10 am.

11:55 pm- Walk by a food kiosk.

Because I want to look good for the Americans, I skip the burger and fries and opt for a salad. When I ask for a fork the cashier says “No tengo.” Instead, he hands me a spoon.

What ensues is a thirty second non-verbal exchange during which I give him a look that says “You’re kidding, right?” and he responds with a look that says “Suck it up, princess. I eat cereal with a mortar and pestle.”

I spend the next fifteen minutes huddled in the corner trying to hide the fact that I’m eating salad with my hands.

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This is what happens when I don't use a fork.

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12:15 am- Go to baggage claim area.

Through the window I see a man carrying my knapsack over to the conveyor belt. It’s so close I can smell the hairspray that has leaked all over my souvenirs. All they need to do is turn on the belt and it will be mine.

Out of nowhere a security guard walks up. He looks at my bag, then pulls out his radio and makes a call.

Another girl, a Mexican, is standing beside me. She says she’s been waiting for her bag for over an hour. Frustrated, she bangs on the window to get their attention.

“Cuál es el problema!?”

The guard pops his head under the flap. Because of his thick accent, I can only understand the words “Federales” drogas” and “perros”.

Mexican girl is livid. She yells something along the lines of “It was just on the other airplane! The only way there would be any drugs in my bag is if you put them there!”

Obviously this logic is too complicated for the guard to understand, as he waves his hand dismissively and goes back to doing nothing.

1:15 am- Dogs arrive.

The guard walks one of them up and down the conveyor belt. Dog sniffs. No reaction. Apparently this isn’t the answer he was hoping for, so he brings the dog around again. And again. Eleven times. Dumbfounded, I instinctively pull out my phone and start taking pictures.

Suddenly, another security guard pops his head through the flap.

“No puedes tomar photos!”

He orders me to delete them. Normally I would be scared shitless, but it’s one in the morning and I’m not thinking clearly and since Mexican girl didn’t get shot for talking back,  I stand my ground and tell him in perfectly-accented Spanish that I can’t because my family is nervous and my amiga with driving car makes sad face when plane says hello with no drug-containing friend.

“Borrarlas!” he yells, and I don’t know what that means but I assume my answer didn’t fly so I delete them but secretly keep one as a memento/proof because I’ve been told that some people think my proclivity for lying borders on pathological:

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2:45 am- Finally get my bag.

I spend the next six hours sitting on a bench, creating the following  list of commonly mistranslated Spanish phrases that I’ve unfortunately found out the hard way:

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*****

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Scenario 1- When asked how long you plan to be in the country for:

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Scenario 2- When expressing feelings of hunger:

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Scenario 3- When interrupting your Spanish teacher in the middle of class to tell him what a good driver you are because this obviously relates to your ability to learn the language quickly:.

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Scenario 4- When not-so-subtly-hinting to same teacher that it might be a good idea to turn on the fan:

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Scenario 5- When trying to sound “hip”:

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Scenario 6- When asking for extra pickles on your sub:

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Scenario 7- When making small talk with the cashier while he rings through your bag of potato chips:

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Scenario 8- When being introduced to a guy named “Jose”:

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Scenario 9- After noticing there is a child sitting on the curb eating rocks while his oblivious mother is too busy conversing with another local to notice:

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Scenario 10- When, in an effort to cover up your obvious error, you tell that same woman you really like her kid because you know parents like hearing that stuff:

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Final Scenario- When, after chugging back shots at a local nightclub with a dozen local men all vying for your attention (because, well, who wouldn’t rather get with a pasty white gringa as opposed to one of those boring olive-skinned curvy types?), you fall off the bar stool, and in your obliterated state assume that by adding “ada” to the end of an English word this will automatically make it Spanish:

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**FYI- I also do one-on-one tutoring.  Contact me at bschooled@hotmail.com for rates.

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The Wonderer

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I wonder about a lot of things.

I wonder why people feel the need to write cryptic status updates on Twitter and Facebook, then say “It’s personal” when you ask them about it. I also wonder why Tori Spelling is relevant. One time I was so busy wondering that I forgot to go to work for an entire week.

Unfortunately, my Boss was not a wonderer, which is why I no longer work for that company.

One day, back when I was still employed, I was in a meeting. Because Engineering meetings are boring, I started wondering what would happen if I were to suddenly lean over the table and start making out with Don.

It’s not that I was attracted to Don–He was two years away from retirement and had a forehead that just wouldn’t quit. I just wanted to know what would happen if I did. Would he be all into it? Would my co-workers be shocked? Or even worse, turned on? Would they get all awkward and make an excuse to leave the room? Or would all hell break lose and suddenly the conference room would turn into one giant anal-retentive orgy?

An inquiring mind wanted to know.

To break up the monotony at work, my BFFOOTPITO (best friend forever out of the people in the office) taught me a game called  “Would You Rather.”

C- Would you rather be mauled by a bear or attacked by a shark?

Me- Neither. Final answer.

C- You have to pick one.

Me- Fine. Has the bear been declawed?

C- Why would a bear be declawed?

B- Is it a Basking shark?

C- Does it matter?

B- Well, duh. Basking Sharks don’t use their teeth.

C- *sighs* Why don’t you start. Give me two things and I’ll tell you which one I’d rather do.

B- Okay. Would you rather get rich or die tryin’?

C- It has to be two things that I wouldn’t want to do.

B- You didn’t say that.

C-  I thought it was implied.

B- Fine. Shit or get off the pot?

C- You don’t get it, do you?

B- Move it or lose it?

C- Forget it.

B- Well, that answers my next question. I was going to ask if you’d rather Set It or Forget It.

It took a while, but eventually I got the hang of it.

We played this game every day. Because we didn’t want to be accused of wasting Company time, we made sure to keep our questions strictly work-related.

“Would you rather stay at our current job for another five years or be in a fire where ninety percent of our body is covered in burns?”

When the answers became too easy (Burn Baby, Burn!), we decided to up the ante.

“Would you rather sleep with Hussein in Accounting, or Phil in Document Controls?”

To give you an idea of what we were dealing with it took three days– even cutting into our lunch hour (which we made up for by leaving early)–for us to come to a verdict.

I felt it was only fair that we share our decision with the finalists. I asked Hussein and Phil to meet us in the boardroom.

Me- First, we want you to know that this wasn’t easy. You’re both great guys and I’m sure both of you would make some desperate woman very happy.

Phil- What’s this about?

Me- Patience, old man. You’re not dead yet. *Turning to Hussein*  Now Hussein, you have a really great personality, but we find you too sweaty for our taste. Phil, your sensible footwear and cane really draws attention to your oldness.

During the intermission, C sang a song off her Richard Marx-inspired album “Right Here Collating For You.” I talked about the importance of not grossing your co-workers out by flossing at your desk.

Finally it came time to announce the winner. You could cut the tension with a knife. Had it not been for Hussein’s sweating, you would have been able to hear a paper-clip drop.

To make the experience seem more legit I decided to use the “Double Deek-Out,” a trick I picked up from watching “So You Think You Can Dance.”

You know how when the two contestants are up for elimination and that annoying English chick will turn to one guy and make it seem like he’s the winner? Then, at the last minute she will spew out a bunch of confusing double negatives, causing the loser to go home and slash his wrists and the viewers to wonder what the hell just happened.

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I find this method also works in my personal life.

For example, let’s say I’m at the store trying to decide which chocolate bar I want to buy.  To make the task seem more exciting, I will act like I’m going to pick the Oh Henry, then at the last minute I will point to the Eatmore and say “Eatmore, you may not not stay. Oh Henry, I’m sorry to say “No Way!”"

Given my unhealthy attachment to inanimate objects, I usually end up buying both. Also, a pack of Smarties.

Fortunately, my empathetic nature doesn’t extend to human beings.

I made it look like we were going to choose Hussein. Then I turned around and awarded Phil the title of “Guy We Would Sleep with If We Had To Pick between Him And Hussein.”

I awarded him with a stapler from the filing cabinet. C sang a song from her Meatloaf-inspired album, “Subordinate Out Of Hell.”

I don’t think Hussein was too happy with the results. But to be fair, he was married so it wasn’t like he had to worry about what was on the outside.

The important thing was that we gave an ornery old man something to live for.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder about Phil.

Not because I care–I mean, obviously–but because like I said…I’m a wonderer.

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