Went to BK this morning, mostly to get a big Coke. I pull up to the drive through, and I say that I want an omlette sandwhich and a king size Coke. The woman starts talking and I can hardly make out a word she says. ESL. Bad ESL. I say "What?" about three times, folllowed by more giberish. Finally, I get that there are two types of omlette sandwhiches, so I get the "normal one." I then wait for like 10 minutes to get to the window. I finally pull up to the window and the girl is there. She says I ordered the normal omlette meal. I say no, I just wanted the sandwhich. She says OK and says it is $3.24 or something. I hand over a fiver and at the same time said "Does that include the king size Coke I wanted?" She says no and that she would give me the Coke for free. I said "A king size Coke, right?" "Regular Coke?" she says. I say yes. She smiles and gets the already poured teeny tiny Coke off the dispenser and hands it to me with a big smile. I hesitate before taking it, but end up just driving off. There are plenty of white people working in the background.
This lady was obviously nice and doing her best, but the end result was that I didn't get my big Coke, which was the whole reason for the venture, and BK is out $2 - plus that is the last time I am going there. I guess it is not really the girl's fault - she should be frying burgers, not taking orders. Stooopid BK.
Well, your body will thank you for not getting the Coke of Doom in the end.
Got this in an email the other day:
Room Service (RS): "Morrin. Roon sirbees."
Guest (G): "Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service."
RS: "Rye..Roon sirbees..morrin! Jewish to oddor
G: "Uh..yes..I'd like some bacon and eggs."
RS: "Ow July den?"
RS: "Ow July den?...pryed, boyud, poochd?"
G: "Oh, the eggs! How do I like them?
Sorry, scrambled please."
RS: "Ow July dee baykem? Crease?"
G: "Crisp will be fine."
RS: "Hokay. An Sahn toes?"
RS: "An toes. July Sahn toes?"
G: "I don't think so."
RS: "No? Judo wan sahn toes??"
G: "I feel really bad about this, but I don't know
what 'judo wan sahn toes' means."
RS: "Toes! toes!..Why jew don juan toes? Ow bow
Anglish moppin we bodder?"
G: "English muffin!! I've got it! You were saying 'Toast.' Fine. Yes, an English muffin will be fine."
RS: "We bodder?"
G: "No...just put the bodder on the side."
G: "I mean butter...just put it on the side."
G: "Excuse me?"
G: "Yes. Coffee, please, and that's all."
RS: "One Minnie. Scramah egg, crease baykem, Anglish moppin we bodder on sigh and copy....rye??"
G: "Whatever you say."
G: "You're very welcome."
By chance, were you the only white guy in the drive through line??? Maybe you need to change neighborhoods.........mank.
Walk in to a mcdonalds and try to order somthing in french or german. it really confuses the heck out of them. It does not even have to be accurate. just learn a few words and then go in there and say them over and over.
Heh, that's a classic.
In the great radio show Fibber McGee and Molly there was character who worked at various jobs who talked with some accent (perhaps New York? I don't know) who the McGees always had trouble understanding. For example, he comes to their door with a package. Fibber takes it, and the guy says:
GUY: "Ey, wait a mint, yissle hafta sign f'it!"
FIBBER: "What's that, bud?"
GUY:"I tell ya, if ya want the package, yissle hafta sign f'it!"
FIBBER: "Oh, where?"
GUY: "b'om line."
GUY: "B'OM, B'OM! B-O-T-T-O-M, B'OM! Wassa matta, don' I artikalate distink?"
Or the Spanish lady who came to the house to borrow a wrench:
LADY: "My stove, he is broken. I fix him, I cook. My brother she is coming home soon tonight. No fix, no dinner!"
MOLLY: "What does your brother do?"
LADY: "He eats the dinner."
FIBBER: "No, we mean what does he do for a living?"
LADY: "Oh! He flews. He flews the airo-plane. He is a much good flewer, my brother."
*Plane flies overhead*
LADY: "CARLOS! That is my brother. He flews over the head."
MOLLY: "Oh. For a moment I thought he was going to flews down the flue!"
Wow, that was a real show? I thought it was just made up for News Radio!
Reminds me of the time my cousin and I went to the McD's drive-thru to get a couple of drinks. My cousin gets a Dr. Pepper, and I got a Root Beer. The friendly Mexican hands us our drinks, but didn't bother to punch the little tabs on the top to tell which is root ber and which is Dr. Pepper. My cousin says, "which is which?" Friendly Mexican just smiles and looks at the cieling. He had no idea what we were saying. Then my cousin says to him (while pointing at me), "but, he's got herpes..." I couldn't stop laughing.
Do you ever order the yumbo yak wit yeeze at Yak in na Bok?
I admit to being an asshole...
One of my favourite things to do, upon encountering someone obvious bil-lingual and working customer service of any type, who automatically speaks to me in Spanish instead of English, is to start blathering in Japanese.
Eventually, when we come 'round to the truth of the matter which is that the only language we have in common is English, I'll say something irritating like "Well, you weren't speaking English. So I figured it must be international night!"
I'll admit to being really rude when I get a person who does not have a grasp of the language on the phone trying to "help" me with an issue. If I am calling your company, it's because I need something, not because I want to give English 101 lessons.
My Grandparents had to learn the language. Nobody catered to them. There were no "For Italian press 2 and for Gaelic press 3" options when they got off the boat.
If you can't speak the language, do a job that does not require that you interract with the public. AND for all those major companies turning over their Customer Service lines to off shore answering services? I do the best I can to never deal with them. Can't give an American a job who can speak the language, but they give it to some guy in the Middle East?
Not long ago I was ordering something on the phone and the girl I was talking to just could not speak enough English to take my order. Finally I said "Let me talk to someone who speaks English". Apparently this is the height of rudeness because her manager got on the phone and was pissed off. That pissed me off pretty good since at my job they act like I should be able to speak whatever language the person I'm talking to speaks. I just hung up and called back. Somebody else answered to phone and I placed my order no problem.
We didn't used to have any Mexicans around here, but now we do. Most of them are OK seems like. One drunk Mexican guy started giving me a hard time and saying I didn't like him because he was Mexican. I told him actually I liked all the Mexicans I had met until right then and that he was the first Mexican asshole I had ever seen. He shut up.
get used to it, it's all part of Jorge's plan for America.
Or better yet, use High School Spanish on a Spanish speaking person.
High school Spanish is a language used only in American High schools. When you use it on a real Spanish speaker, they draw a TOTAL blank.
I was dealing with my state (Florida) VA office and I was obviously speaking to one of the Cuban inhabitants.
I could muddle my way through most of what she was telling me until she told me:
"Jew haftoo mail eet to sand pretty bird."
"JEW HAFTOO MAIL EET TO SAND PRETTY BIRD."
"SAND PRETTY BIRD...SAND PRETTY BIRD....JEW HAFTOO SEN DIT TO SAND PRETTY BIRD."
Oh - I have to mail it to St Petersburg!
"JES, JES!...SAND PRETTY BIRD."
Surely you jest. It works for me, you just have to speak more slowly. Examples:
You're not the poor bastard that visited Old Mexico and had the waiter inform him (in unaccented English)that he ought to can the HS Spanish and use English because he had just ordered a Baked stuffed elephant with all the trimmings!
I just went through this crap today. I had checked rates online, for hotels around Atlantic City, NJ, but I wanted to call to find out if they had coffee makers in the rooms. My only requirement for a hotel is that it either have room service to deliver coffee, or a coffeemaker in the room.
So, I called 5 hotels and after navigating through the phone system, was connected to reservations. None of the damn reservationists spoke understandable english. All is was asking was if the rooms had coffeemakers and I couldn't understand a single response. I hung up on each of them and I ended up increasing my minimum requirements that there be coffee available on demand, AND they speak english.
Apparently, the number of immigrants has exceeded the total number of 7-11s and taxis available. They are expanding into buying hotel franchises. I don't have a problem with this, but geesh, how much common sense does it take to use english speaking people to answer the phones.
I'm still looking for a hotel, but next time my GF will be making the reservations. She's the one that wants to go visit her family.
Best laugh in months.
I wonder how Spanish Ebonics sounds.
If you can find someone to work for just above minimum wage and show up for work everyday, is American ( I mean North American) and speaks perfect English, then take him or her to your food or oher seervice provider for a job.
Maybe these service providers can get a small break since they al least go to work.
From a friend, not really a language problem, but it helps with the frustration side of things:
When you occasionally have a really bad day and you just need to take it out
on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone
you don't know.
It all started one day when I was sitting at my desk and remembered a phone
call I had forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man
answered, saying, "Hello." I politely said, "This is Stephen. May I please
speak with Robin Carter"?
Suddenly, the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone
could be so rude. I tracked down Robin's correct number and called her. I
had transposed the last two digits of her phone number. After hanging up
with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again. When the same guy
answered the phone, I yelled, "You're an asshole!" and hung up. I wrote his
number down with the word 'asshole' next to it and put it in my desk
Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd
call him up and yell, "You're an asshole!" It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic 'asshole' calling
would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John
Smith from the Telephone Company. I'm just calling to see if you're
interested in the Caller ID program?"
He yelled, "NO!" and slammed the phone down. I quickly called him back and
said, "That's because you're an asshole!"
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some
guy in a black BMW M3 cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently
waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I had been waiting for the spot.
The idiot ignored me and then stuck his middle finger out the window and
waved it around. I noticed he had a "For Sale" sign in his car window, so I
wrote down his number.
A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole, (I had his
number on speed dial), I thought I had better call the BMW asshole, too. I
said, "Is this the man with the black BMW M3 for sale?"
"Yes, it is."
"Can you tell me where I can see it?"
"Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It's a very modern white house and
the car's parked right out in front."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"My name is Don Burgemeyer," he said.
"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"
"I'm home every evening after five."
"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"
"Don, you're an asshole." Then I hung up and added his number to my speed
dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. But after
several months of calling them, it wasn't as enjoyable as it used to be. So
I came up with an idea.
I called Asshole #1. "Hello." "You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.)
"Are you still there?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Stop calling me," he screamed.
"Make me," I said.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Don Burgemeyer."
"Yeah? Where do you live?"
"Asshole, I live at 1802 West 34th Street, a white house and to make easy
for you, my black BMW M3 is parked in front."
He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying
I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole. Bring your lunch!!"
Then I called Asshole #2.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello, asshole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are!.."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your ass." he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."
Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at
1802 West 34th Street and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay
lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down on West
34th Street. I quickly got into my car an headed over to 34th street.
There I saw two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six
squad cars, a police helicopter and a news crew.
NOW, I feel better. Anger management really works.
My grandparents made minimum wage, showed up every day, did the job, and LEARNED TO SPEAK THE LANGUAGE.
The only BREAK anyone should GET is a COFFEE or SMOKE break.