57.17- Language Barrier
Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2023 7:17 pm
I don’t know how I could make such a dumb mistake. I mean, the words aren’t even anything alike…
Since we had so many Hispanic players in the organization, I thought I’d try to learn some Spanish (despite having the name “Chico Ruiz” I speak no Spanish, and have no aptitude for the language, as I was soon to discover). Anyway, rather than take a more conventional approach, I bought a book called the “Underground Guide To Spanish”, which I figured would help me with the more “street” version of the language that I figured my players spoke. And I resolved to learn 50 new words a day; probably about 49 too many, in retrospect…
Okay, so… the Spanish word for “haircut” is “corte”. The Spanish word for “prostitute” is “puta”. Not remotely similar, am I right? And yet, somehow I managed to confuse the two.
My problem began when I encountered infielder Javier Lopez one morning in the hallway and decided to show off my new bilingual skill.
“Hi, boss, how are you today?” he said.
“Good, good”, I replied. I’m thinking about sneaking away at lunchtime and getting a puta.”
“A puta?” he replied, his eyes widening.
"Sure, why not. It always makes me feel better when I have a puta. And with me, it only takes a few minutes; not like some guys who want something fancy.”
“Well, I suppose if that’s what you really want” he said doubtfully.
“Yeah, I think I’m going for it. Hey, if you ever feel like you need a puta, let me know… I’ve been to pretty much all the places around town, and I can recommend a good one.”
“Uhh… No thanks; my wife takes care of me pretty well at home.”
“Oh, it’s great that she has that skill... You know, my aunt was in the business for many, many years. We could never go to where she worked- her waiting room was always full- but once a month we would have “Puta Saturdays”; she would bring over all her equipment and all of us boys would line up and get taken care of.”
“Your own aunt??? Madre de Dios!!!”
“Oh, it ran in the family. Her husband, my uncle, was in the same business. That’s how they met; they worked in the same place. You know how it is; some prefer to go to a woman, some to a man. As for me, nowadays it doesn’t much matter one way or the other to me, as long as they know what they’re doing.”
He turned and ran down the hall. It wasn’t too long before Ernesto Gonzalez, the team’s elder statesman, approached me and helped straighten the whole misunderstanding out. I think I’ll stick to English from now on; I have enough trouble with that.
Since we had so many Hispanic players in the organization, I thought I’d try to learn some Spanish (despite having the name “Chico Ruiz” I speak no Spanish, and have no aptitude for the language, as I was soon to discover). Anyway, rather than take a more conventional approach, I bought a book called the “Underground Guide To Spanish”, which I figured would help me with the more “street” version of the language that I figured my players spoke. And I resolved to learn 50 new words a day; probably about 49 too many, in retrospect…
Okay, so… the Spanish word for “haircut” is “corte”. The Spanish word for “prostitute” is “puta”. Not remotely similar, am I right? And yet, somehow I managed to confuse the two.
My problem began when I encountered infielder Javier Lopez one morning in the hallway and decided to show off my new bilingual skill.
“Hi, boss, how are you today?” he said.
“Good, good”, I replied. I’m thinking about sneaking away at lunchtime and getting a puta.”
“A puta?” he replied, his eyes widening.
"Sure, why not. It always makes me feel better when I have a puta. And with me, it only takes a few minutes; not like some guys who want something fancy.”
“Well, I suppose if that’s what you really want” he said doubtfully.
“Yeah, I think I’m going for it. Hey, if you ever feel like you need a puta, let me know… I’ve been to pretty much all the places around town, and I can recommend a good one.”
“Uhh… No thanks; my wife takes care of me pretty well at home.”
“Oh, it’s great that she has that skill... You know, my aunt was in the business for many, many years. We could never go to where she worked- her waiting room was always full- but once a month we would have “Puta Saturdays”; she would bring over all her equipment and all of us boys would line up and get taken care of.”
“Your own aunt??? Madre de Dios!!!”
“Oh, it ran in the family. Her husband, my uncle, was in the same business. That’s how they met; they worked in the same place. You know how it is; some prefer to go to a woman, some to a man. As for me, nowadays it doesn’t much matter one way or the other to me, as long as they know what they’re doing.”
He turned and ran down the hall. It wasn’t too long before Ernesto Gonzalez, the team’s elder statesman, approached me and helped straighten the whole misunderstanding out. I think I’ll stick to English from now on; I have enough trouble with that.