Jordan Almonds Toronto

linguistic misunderstandings

Può capitare, a volte, ad una povera ragazza alla quale è sempre stato tassativamente vietato parlare in dialetto, che si ritrovi a sentirsi straniera nella sua stessa città. Può capitare che la suddetta ragazza stia per chiedere qualcosa alla commessa di un negozio, quando qualcuno pronuncia una frase in lingua ignota che scatena l'ilarità generale e il negozio tutto (barattoli di marmellata compresi, giuro!) inizia a ridere. Tutti, eccetto la già citata ragazza. La quale, volendo partecipare a quel clima di allegria che viene alimentato da altre frasi nella stessa lingua ignota, cerca di sorridere, producendo result in a spasm of the face similar to a stroke. It can happen, eh. Mica I said that happened to me Saturday night in a candy store of a very dangerous neighborhood?
Ultimately, however, I went well. I managed to make myself understood by the locals and buy what I needed for a romantic dinner with my love. But the clerk looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and pity, and even a tantinello contempt because I was not able to grasp the joke.
I console myself by thinking that my mother-in-law was worse. Some time ago, being a little shopping in a supermarket, has explicitly called for a ham of a particular make the guy in the delicatessen department (which I think might be called pork, seeing as I'm about to tell you. It would be an insult to butchers!). The guy turns around, takes the bench the first meat that resembles a ham and start slicing. I already told my boyfriend has celiac disease, then you will understand that there is a good reason if you buy my mother-in-law only a particular brand of ham, as has the guarantee that the product is definitely gluten-free. Who among my readers, suffer from this disorder will know that certain products are more subtle than others, because, heck, you do not expect the flour into the ham or salami! Fortunately my mother-in-law has the reflexes of a tiger which are tearing the puppies (which is not always good) and you realize that the ham is not required of the brand. The notes to the guy, but he shrugs. Makes him out again, and he says that what's affection is a good ham. Yes, maybe it's true, but if I wanted to buy a wool sweater and I trimmed flannel pajamas with the excuse that "both take the same warm," I am a little angry. My mother-in-law is more diplomatic than me, so it has lost patience and told the decerebration the reason for his request. He did not say things misunderstanding, he did say explicitly "XYZ brand of the product does not contain gluten, while what she is slicing it contains."
It is not difficult to understand.
Glu-ne-ti .
If he had missed the word, it could always ask my mother-in-law repeated. Or is accepted, as then my mother-in-law forced him to do, that the ham brand XYZ had just can not.
But no. The
jerk, from the top of his ignorance, took the label of the ham and responded "but you see, lady, here it is written clearly, without polyphosphates. Here, maybe I expect too much from people, but even without knowing its meaning, I feel that there is a slight difference in pronunciation between polyphosphate and gluten. Thus, by ear, he would notice. Instead, the error persisted. Finally my mother-in-law, more and more patient than me, is tired and left. I, however, I would have sent in. With violence, too. By the way, I would not have provided many explanations as to why the request. I think my right to get what I ask, if I pay for it, without having to give explanations to anyone. If then the arrogance of my partner should also push to give me wrong ...
Now that I think once it happened to me too. It was winter and I had to buy new pants. Within the store and ask the sales of the size 38 pants seen in the window. She looks at me, then brings me the 44. I know having spoken Italian and I know that many are committed to the language a bit 'tricky, but I did not expect having to do the doodles. I would point out that the size is wrong and she laughingly told me that I am at least a 44. And if the pants had not been for me? And if I wanted to wear pants three sizes too small because they are masochistic and I feel like the thighs squeezed from the cloth?
I look at it. Black-dyed hair covered with gel, pounds of makeup on the skin color brick lamp ( November! ), with a border of burgundy lipstick black pencil, gold hoop earrings that come behind us, black chalk to cover dark circles.
smile.
I smile because I realize that if the slut he dreams at night in a size 38, so I decide to give me a little revenge. Within the dressing room, I put that huge pants and take off even a wool sweater, remaining with a light shirt and tight to look like even flatter, and then I go out, keeping the pants with his hands in order to highlight the fact that he could also go in my guy in that circle, - I confess, holding a little 'belly in the way that it was more obvious-I ask whether it is prepared to give me a 38. Well, no! The vaiassa brings me a 40 and I have to measure that, too, to prove that wrong, to get my first 38. I left the store pissed off but happy as she continues to babble things like "but I could have sworn that ...". In his language, of course.
Really, if working abroad, even in a country that does not know the language, it would notice the difference. Indeed, perhaps yes. Abroad I can make myself understood in English, not here.