Can't Anyone Here Speak English?

Can’t Anyone Here Speak English?

Barbara and I had gone to the Sawgrass Mall to look for some birthday presents.  

We found what we were looking for and decided to have lunch at the mall.  We walked to the food court and decided to have Nathan’s HotDogs for lunch.  

Now I know that according to some research, each hotdog eaten lessens your life span by 35 minutes but we thought we would give it a shot.  A good Nathan’s HotDog seemed worth it.

Barbara sat at a table and I approached the counter to order.

I was the only customer and there were two people there to take my order, a young man in his 20’s and a young girl who seemed younger than the man.

I noticed that the menu had changed since I had been there last.  They had added several chicken and hamburger choices and less hot dog choices.

“That new menu is sacrilegious,” I stated.

The two people looked at me blankly.

“You’re Nathan’s, not Burger King or Wendy’s,” I said.

Again, no reaction from the two people.

“I mean, that you only should be selling Hotdogs at Nathans, its traditional,” I said, trying to explain. 

“Oh,” the young man said, with a smile.  Still no reaction from the young woman.

I decided to forgo any banter and just place my order.

“I would like two combos with two hotdogs in each combo please,” I said.

The girl continued to look at me blankly.

The young man replied to my order with “so you want 4 combo’s?”

“No, I want two combos with two hot dogs in each,” I reiterated.

“So, you want four combos?” he asked.

This went on for a few minutes.  We established, or I thought we established, that I wanted two combos with 2 hotdogs in each.  The girl still had not said anything and the young man seemed unsure of his understanding of what I wanted.  He stated his English was not too good.  He went to the grill to make the order.

The girl then keyed in the order and pointed to the credit card machine where the amount was displayed.  The amount looked about right and I took out my credit card to use. I got my receipt and looked it over.  It said two combos with one hotdog each.  

“Wait a minute, this is wrong.  I want two combos with two hotdogs each,” I said.

“No habla ingles” the girl said.

“What????” I asked.

She motioned for the young man to come back.

Again we went over the order I wanted.  This resulted in the girl setting up a new charge of 2 additional combos.

“I’m not paying this,” I said, “this is wrong”.

The two counter people conferred with each other and the young man went in the back.  He came out with an older women.

“What seems to be problem,” she asked?

“I want two combos with two hot dogs each.  They seem to want me to buy 4 combo’s.  I have bought combos like that in the past.  They can’t seem to get it right,” I stated.

She thought this over and said, “we don’t make the combos that way any more, you will have to pay for two additional hotdogs”.

I was amazed they had discontinued the two hotdog combos but agreed to pay and they charged me an additional 8 dollars, after the older woman explained what was required in Spanish to the young girl, bringing my total to $28.  I stepped to the side to await my order and fill up some ketchup cups for the french fries.

The girl then said “Drink?”

“Yes, its included with the combos,” I said.

She pointed to the soda fountain and made a “which one gesture”

“I’ll take two regular cokes,” I said.

“Coca Cola, Regular?”, she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

The girl grabbed two enormous  cups, the kind Mayor Bloomberg tried to ban in New York City, and filled them for me.  I asked for a tray, but got no response.

Meanwhile the young man at the grill asked if I wanted sauerkraut and would I like the french fries in a box.

“Sure,” I said.

Meanwhile, Barbara is staring at me and getting mad. She’s sure I’m wasting time kibbitzing with the counter people and delaying getting my order.  I see I have no chance of getting a tray so I motion Barbara to come over to help me with the drinks.

Barbara comes over and asks me what I am doing.  I tell her I will explain to her when we get back to the table with the order.  She takes the drinks and goes back to the table.

I wait for the rest of the order.  Finally I am given the order.  I have to ask for mustard and napkins.  As I leave for the table, I see a man about my age trying to order two combo’s with two hotdogs each.  I resist the urge to tell him its hopeless and go to the table without speaking.

I get to the table and proceed to tell Barbara that the people at the counter do not speak English and don’t understand what I was trying to order.  

The lady at the next table looks our way and says “Oh my God.  My husband is over there trying to order and I can see he’s arguing with them. Did you say they don’t speak English?”

“Yeah, they don’t understand,” I reply.

The lady looks amazed and watches her husband gesturing and arguing with the counter people.  We start talking about Nathan’s we have been to and find we’ve been to the same ones in New York.  While we are talking she keeps looking apprehensively at her husband, arguing and gesturing at the counter.

After a while he finally comes over with his order.  He sits down and he looks at his bill and swears.  He then gets up and returns to the counter.  After some arguing he returns.  

“What happened?”, the wife asks.

“They charged me too much.  First they wanted to charge me $40.  Then they lowered the charge after I pointed out I didn’t want four combos. Now, they overcharged me by $5.25.  I showed them how much it should have been and they said they would give me the difference in cash.  They then gave me $5.22 instead of the agreed upon $5.25  That girl is clueless,” he said shaking his head.

Meanwhile we had spread out our food and the other couple unpacked theirs.

It was clear we had differences in the orders we had been given.  Our drinks were 24 oz’s, theirs was 12oz’s.  Our fries were in a boxes and had twice the amount of their fries which were in little bags.

We start to commiserate with each other.

We all were amazed that Nathan’s would hire people with so little knowledge of English.  Hiring bilingual employees is smart business, but to hire people who only speak Spanish and put them out front seems ridiculous, and bad business.  It’s true that a lot of Spanish speaking people come to the  mall, but not the majority.  What was that manager or owner thinking?

To make matters worse, the hotdogs and whole fuss with ordering, didn’t seem to be worth the 35 minutes lost. 

The Father's Day Gift That Never Was

The Father’s Day Gift That Never Was

This year we were able to visit our daughter’s family in Connecticut after an almost two year absence because of COVID.  

We chose the end of May to Mid June as our visit.

While there, our daughter and her family presented me with a Father’s day gift.  It was a gift card to Bed Bath and Beyond.

I thought it an odd choice over Dick’s, Macy’s or some other store more suited to men.  

However, I was really grateful and expressed my thanks and appreciation for their gift.  I reasoned they must have thought I would buy some cooking appliance or tool with the gift card.

Once we returned home, Barbara immediately insisted we should go get a new comforter for our bed.  I readily agreed since we had discussed getting a comforter prior to our visit to our daughter.  

We decided on first going to Bed Bath and Beyond since we had good luck finding comforters there in the past.

Fortunately we found a comforter that suited our needs.

At the cash register, Barbara offered my gift certificate to the cashier as payment (plus her usual 20% off coupon).  She reasoned this would be a painless way of paying for the comforter.  It made sense to me and I concurred.

The next day our daughter called and Barbara told her how we bought a comforter.  My daughter asked to speak with me and when I took the phone she was laughing.

“What’s  so funny,” I said ?

After catching her breath, she proceeded to tell me the choice of the store for the Gift Card was steered by Barbara towards Bed Bath and Beyond.  

She started to giggle and then laugh again.

The light bulb went off.  The choice of Bed Bath and Beyond was a calculated ploy by “you know who” to buy a comforter without any economic objection by me.

When I mentioned this to my daughter, she laughed harder.

After I got off the phone I asked Barbara if she had planned my “Father’s Day Gift” so she could pay for the comforter.  She vehemently denied she had planned it that way.  She claimed she knew I would consider an Air Fryer (something we had both rejected recently), and it was just a “happy coincidence” that the gift certificate was available to be used for the comforter.

I have my doubts about her explanation, but I do l like the comforter.

A Reason To Get Up Early In The Time Of Covid

A Reason To Get Up Early In The Time Of Covid

This is a story about my cousin who will remain semi anonymous and here after referred to by her initials CC.

I have known her all my life, she is a little older than me and is my first cousin. She often does things and says things that I find highly amusing.  She has a graduate degree and had a very responsible job.  The following story leads me to question the validity of her education and the judgement of the New York City Board of Education Division of Administrators.

I had taken CC and her husband to get their first vaccination shots and the time for her second shot was at hand.  The plan was for her and her husband to take an Uber to my house (she lives about 40 minutes north of me), arriving at 7:30 AM and I would drive them to the vaccination site at Hard Rock Stadium in North Miami (about 35 minutes south of me).

At 7:30 I received a call from her saying they were lost.  They had the correct address, but she was sure they were at the wrong house.  I went outside and there they were in front of my house.  She had insisted it was not my house and was telling the driver to move on to another.  I had a sense of Deja Vu, since she had done the exact same thing three weeks before.

Nevertheless, I loaded them into my car and we set off for the vaccination site.

We arrived at what was the site three weeks ago and found it empty. There were no people, cars, tents or any other indication that this was a vaccination site.  They had moved and not told anyone (Deja Vu for me as I had a similar experience when I was 18 and away from home, but that is another story).

I left the location looking for signs directing me to the new site.  No signs to be seen.  

I saw a police car and pulled up next to him.  I asked for directions (proving guys do ask for directions, contrary to many slanderous statements by members of the opposite sex).  He reluctantly lowered his window and told me to make a right turn into the stadium and follow the sign.  I made the right, but the only sign evident was for Testing, not Vaccinating.  

Once again I found a policeman and he assured me I was in the right place and to follow the sign for Covid Testing and all would become clear.  I followed his advice with trepidation.  

I was pleasantly surprised when a sign appeared saying Vaccines on the right, Testing on the left.  I got onto one of two lines offered for vaccinations, and settled in for a wait.  

There was an older lady in front of us who had taken upon herself the duty to monitor the line for people who were there for testing.  Periodically she would identify someone next to her by their younger look and get out of her car to tell them they were on the wrong line.  Some might call this behavior, “performing a public service”,  I thought of it as “busybodying” and the “desire to be in charge”.  She also held up the line while she was out of her car giving advice. An annoying side effect punishable by a horn honk.

While waiting I asked my cousin if she had her consent forms filled out properly.  She advised me they were in order.  CC then asked me if she had filled it out correctly when they asked if this was her first shot.  She had said “yes” even though it was the second.  A minor but silly mistake, easily corrected.

She was also nervous about being able to get the shot since she wasn’t given a specific time to get the shot, only the day.  I assured her it wouldn’t be a problem.  I also requested she not offer information or speak with the people screening applicants as she has a tendency to Babble and Ramble, confusing things.  Her husband said she could only give “Her name, rank and serial number”.  These instructions quickly came into play in an unexpected manner.

We reached the final screening station.  Her husband’s consent form was easily scanned and approved.  She was having a problem.

Three times the attendant tried to scan her application and three times he seemed to have difficulty.  He kept asking her. “Is this your name?”  She answered in the affirmative followed by his performing another scan and repeating the question.  He finally accepted what his tablet was showing after the scan and we moved on to the vaccination station.

I asked her what was the problem?

“He kept asking me if that was my correct name”, she said.  “He asked me if this was my correct middle name”.

“Why would he do that,” I inquired.

“He asked if it really was “Nun?” she replied.

“Nun?” I said, “your middle name is Nun?”

“No, I don’t have a middle name.  So when I filled out the form, where it asked for the middle name I put down NONE.  Everybody who doesn’t have a middle name would do the same”, she said proudly.

“No they wouldn’t”, I replied, laughing along with her husband.  

Indignantly CC insisted she was correct.

“Why didn’t you correct him?” I asked.

“You two told me to keep my mouth shut and not tell them anything, so I didn’t want to tell him why I did that.  It’s ok, now he stupidly thinks my middle name is NONE.  What is wrong with him?”, she stated.

By this time N (her husband) and I were laughing loudly.  We found this really funny.

We tried to tell her that it was not necessary to put anything in that space or if she had to, to put N/A.  She denied our advice and insisted she had  done the right thing.

I offered to call her Noni from now on.  That was greeted with “you are a f…..g idiot”.

N and I next told her that since she hadn’t corrected the attendant, he had entered NONE into the official record as her middle name.  That would result in her passport, Drivers License, and all other identifiers as being incorrect.   

“They probably won’t let you out of your house until this is corrected”, I inferred directly.

Once again words like “f…..g. idiot and b…ard” were heard loudly and often.

N and I continued to laugh about this for most of the trip back to their home in Delray.

I though this level of amusement more than payed back my very early rising to help them out.

Unrelated Incidents

Unrelated Incidents

I am lucky to have doctors with a sense of humor.  I have previously told the story of the Urologist who gives me prescriptions that read: “No Ragu”, and “Cleared for the Bunny Ranch”, and the Oncologist that gave me a prescription that said: “Chemo patients should not be exposed to paint fumes”.  That was when I futilely tried to get out of painting our kitchen.

This time it was the cardiologist.

Barbara and I use the same cardiologist.  We had a routine 6 month checkup and scheduled the appointment together to save time.  Normally Barbara does not want me in the room with her (with some valid (?) reasons that I have previously written about), but this time we went in together.

We got our exams and then the cardiologist asked us how we were doing with the COVID 19 lockdown.  

I told him how we had started having “High Tea” in the afternoon.  The doctor asked how we did that.  I told him we were trying to be like Downton Abbey and I wanted Barbara and I to dress up in costume to fit the occasion.  He wanted to know if that meant a skimpy maid outfit, etc.  I assured him I meant something a little more proper.  

I related how Barbara had been reluctant to accede to my costume request except once when we had a Zoom Tea Party with the grandchildren of a friend of ours.  I opined that a prescription from him might compel her to comply with my request.

I observed the usual eye roll above Barbara’s medical mask. The doctor seemed to like the idea, probably still thinking of the skimpy maid’s outfit he had originally envisioned.

As The doctor was finishing inputing our data, he asked if there was anything else we want.  I innocently asked for the prescription we had just talked about.  He continued typing without comment.

We left the exam room and went to the checkout desk.

The girls at the desk were making our next appointments when a male nurse came up behind me and said: “Why do you need a prescription to wear a jacket?”  

As he was behind me, I thought he was talking to someone else, so I ignored him.

He repeated the question.

I turned to him and asked if he was talking to me or to someone on the phone through a bluetooth device.  

“To you”, he replied.  “Why do you want a prescription for a jacket?”

At first, I didn’t realize what he was talking about.  Barbara got it right away and gave me “the look”.  

“Oh”, I said, “you must mean the prescription for High Tea”.

“It’s a joke” interjected Barbara.

“Yes”, said the girl at the desk, “here is the prescription request in the your file, just like Downton Abbey”.

The male nurse looked puzzled and I explained to him what we were talking about.

I started to laugh, because I realized that prescription was now part of our permanent medical records and history and would be sent to other doctors we dealt with.  Once again I got “the look” from you know who.

As we were riding home I kept thinking about it and chuckling over it.  Barbara asked why I was laughing and when I explained what I was envisioning, she started laughing too.

I wish I was present when our primary doctor got the cardiologist’s report of our visit.  

Fortunately primary doctor has a sense of humor, not sure what the insurance company will think of the prescription.

In an unrelated but funny incident, Barbara managed to get the best of me.

Every night, it seems to me, Barbara comes into our room to go to bed.  She washes up and then gets into bed where I am already ensconced.  

Inevitably, she puts her hand , that has been chilled to almost zero( or so it seems to me) by washing her hands in cold water, on me.  I protest loudly make her remove her hand. She then gives me a wide eyed innocent look, like “who me? what did I do?

The last two times, I have taken to grabbing her hand prior to her putting it on me.  I believed she would get tired of that and the problem would be solved.

Last night, as Barbara got into bed, I grabbed her hand nearest to me.  Oddly it was warm.  

“Your hand is warm”, I said.  “What happened?”

“Aha”, she exclaimed, as she reached across and put her other hand on me.  Needless to say it was ice cold.

“Gotcha”, Barbara said. 

She had purposely put her other hand in the cold water and kept out the one she usually put on me.

She got me!

I started laughing really hard.  It took me a minute or so to catch my breath from laughing.  I still laugh when I think about it and her diabolical plan to get me.  Kudos to her.

Now that I have relayed this incident, perhaps I will get some sympathy and you will come to realize who the real character is in our house.