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Translation Error
Oct. 27th, 2010 05:19 pm"Dimé un pollo medio," I say, ordering my dinner at a food stand in a gas station parking lot.
"U . . . juan haff cheeken?" the guy behind the counter asks in 'English'. It takes my ears and brain a few seconds to decipher that he's asking me if I 'want half a chicken'.
"Yes," I reply. Half a chicken would be perfect. If I'm really super-duper lumberjack hungry, I can eat a whole chicken. But I'm trying to be a little more responsible so I'm just going to get the half chicken. Besides, it comes with beans and rice too; that's a whole meal right there. As yummy as this pollo asado tastes, I know it's got to be bad for me so let's try and minimize the damage.
So I wait. And wait and wait, in the parking lot. It seems like it's taking him quite a while to bag up my food. Finally he calls me, "Señor," and brings my food to the window. I hand him a twenty.
And then two thoughts simultaneously get jammed in my brain. "Why isn't he giving me any change?" and "That bag looks awfully big." Then boom! I figure it out. He said, "One AND a half cheeken," which costs exactly $20. I don't know if it was his Engrish or my Spanrish that screwed up the transaction, but I'm an embarrassed white guy so I try not to act surprised, just act like a fatty instead and take the food.
So that was dinner tonight, double portions of chicken, rice, and beans. I feel about ten months pregnant right now.
At least I know what I'll be having for dinner tomorrow night!
"U . . . juan haff cheeken?" the guy behind the counter asks in 'English'. It takes my ears and brain a few seconds to decipher that he's asking me if I 'want half a chicken'.
"Yes," I reply. Half a chicken would be perfect. If I'm really super-duper lumberjack hungry, I can eat a whole chicken. But I'm trying to be a little more responsible so I'm just going to get the half chicken. Besides, it comes with beans and rice too; that's a whole meal right there. As yummy as this pollo asado tastes, I know it's got to be bad for me so let's try and minimize the damage.
So I wait. And wait and wait, in the parking lot. It seems like it's taking him quite a while to bag up my food. Finally he calls me, "Señor," and brings my food to the window. I hand him a twenty.
And then two thoughts simultaneously get jammed in my brain. "Why isn't he giving me any change?" and "That bag looks awfully big." Then boom! I figure it out. He said, "One AND a half cheeken," which costs exactly $20. I don't know if it was his Engrish or my Spanrish that screwed up the transaction, but I'm an embarrassed white guy so I try not to act surprised, just act like a fatty instead and take the food.
So that was dinner tonight, double portions of chicken, rice, and beans. I feel about ten months pregnant right now.
At least I know what I'll be having for dinner tomorrow night!
