Oh, bum. Work was just as dreadful today as it was on Friday. I wasn't quite awake enough to cope with the vast number of calls that started as soon as we rolled the phone lines over. I found myself making a lot of stupid typing mistakes. Worse, I heard myself saying "oops" and "hang on" and "ai yi yi" as though the client could see me making those mistakes. The client does NOT want to hear her travel agent say "ai yi yi" when she's just asked how much her trip is going to cost. I usually try not to vocalize as I work.
Then someone came in to pay for his trip to China and said, with a hint of tremolo in his voice, that he felt a bit nervous seeing our Cathay Pacific model jetliner in the window, the one with a big engine lying on the ground. I assured him he wasn't flying Cathay. We really ought to fix that, though.
My only cranky moment occured when someone phoned and spoke to me in Spanish. I courteously said I did not speak Spanish (no hablo Espanol). He was incredulous. "You don't speak Spanish (no hablas Espanol)?" Then he asked if anyone else did (los otros). I said yes, but they were currently at lunch (Si, pero la mujer no es aqui). He kept speaking to me in Spanish. I kept replying in English and as much Spanish as I could muster. Finally, he got mad at me and snapped, "Why don't you speak Spanish (you ignorant slut)?" I gritted my teeth and said I didn't speak Spanish because I was an American (chinga su madre). We hung up simultaneously.
You know, this is not an isolated incident. People get really mad at me for not speaking Spanish, and I don't get that. This isn't a government office, or a public school. This is a private company, and we don't have to speak any language other than our native English. If we did it would be good for business since there are a lot of Mexican families in the area, along with Americans of Mexican descent. But it's not discriminatory of us to only speak one language. I don't go to France, or Japan, and chide people there for not speaking English. Sheesh.
It's always me who gets the strange ones. The guys who think I ought to speak Spanish. The woman who wants a list of cheap hotels in Auckland so she can have her travel agent at another company book them for her. I didn't waste any time on them today. I needed to get them off my phone and away from my desk. I had lots of regular clients to take care of. These clients were all in great moods, and I joked around with them as I drank my coffee and slowly woke up. Terry, a jocular fellow who often travels with Mike, another salesman, wanted me to be sure to book them separate rooms. "Don't put him in my room," he chortled, "I see enough of him as it is."
"Heck, no," I replied cheerfully.
"Wow," he said, startled. "Are you Canadian?" His comment cracked me up. Canadian? That's a Canadian term? I've used that practically all my life, and while Seattle is pretty far north it's not exactly on the border. Anyway, I learned it from my father, a native of Oregon. Maybe it was my pronounciation which does tend a little towards the Scandanavian Minnesotan when I'm being funny on purpose. Or maybe it was being so wretchedly short on sleep and slurring my words a bit, then suddenly snapping into crisp enunciation for the joke. Or maybe, just maybe, he thinks everything he's never heard before is Canadian.
Ai yi yi.
The Index
Next Incarnation