Language Barriers Can Come Back to Bite You

Hello folks, I hope y’all haven’t been worried about me! I know your newsletter is late this week but your happy hostess has been a busy little road warrior. Yesterday I spoke at the Louisiana State Fair in Shreveport at noon and then traveled back to Bastrop, Louisiana to do a cooking show and speaking gig! That said, I’ll jump right into this thing! Have a seat, and let’s chat…~smile~

So, I’m curious, how many times will you ask someone to repeat themselves before you smile and act like you understand— even if you still don’t have a clue? For me, three has been the limit. Here’s a story that may explain why I’m rethinking that practice.

Earlier this summer a number of family members and I took Mama out to eat for her birthday. I was hoping the waiters might sing to her, you know, something like, “Happy, happy birthday, we’re so glad you came—” What I didn’t want them to do is assault her with a cream pie, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Early in our meal, I snuck off to ask our waiter if they could sing Happy Birthday to my mother. “Si’,” he said, “but we must garble, garble, garble. Eet’s tradeetional.”

“Excuse me,” I asked.
“We must garble, garble,” he said. “Eet’s tradeetional.”

I tried again, but after the third garble, I smiled brightly. “Okay, great!” One can’t blame him for assuming we had an agreement.

Shortly afterwards, some merry waiters came singing out of the kitchen, clear across the restaurant. I watched, in horror, as they smashed a cream pie into a birthday stranger’s face. Meanwhile, my own dear Mama sat playing with her great grandson, blissfully unaware of the impending doom! At that moment, a second band of evil servers began approaching our table with Mama’s pie.

No!!! I panicked. It was like a slow motion dream. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak— I waved my arms wildly and sputtered incoherently. Sweet Jesus, so this was garble, garble!

I’ll never know if it was the terror on my face, or if he was overcome by mercy because I was calling on the Good Lord, but at the last moment the lead waiter smeared a dab of whipped cream on Mama’s nose with his finger, which she took this with great class. I, meanwhile, was left signaling for oxygen.

The moral of my story: if at first you don’t understand, you may want to ask until you do.

Hugs,
Shellie

P.S. I’m headed to the Louisiana Book Festival in Baton Rouge. I’ll be presenting “Sue Ellen’s Girl Ain’t Fat, She Just Weighs Heavy” at 2 o’clock, Saturday,the 29th. If you’re anywhere near, come out and chat! I’ll be watching for you…