Momnesia

Yo Quiero Taco Bell

"Does anyone here speak Spanish?" my boss called.
"Me!" I raised my hand.

Don't be impressed. It is not so much that I speak Spanish as I am a glutton for punishment. Because when there is a task to be done, and a volunteer to be requested, my arm is all about shooting straight into the air and my mouth is all, "Me! Me!" and my brain is all "Huh? Why did you wake me up?"

Because I did not so much learn Spanish in college as I did take vast notes on how Spanish and the oh-so-enjoyable three years of high school Latin I endured were vastly different. In many ways. Like, I was expected to actually speak Spanish, whereas Latin is not for speaking. It is for reading and for devising stupid things to say, like "Salve, Joe! Crepidas meas per clavos ad solum adfixinte?" ("Hello, Joe! Did you nail my sandals to the floor?!")

So Latin is largely useless, unless you are the Pope. And I am not. I am not even a singing nun from "The Sound of Music," nor do I play one on TV. Basically, I'm what they might call a Hell McNugget.

So, to sum up my explanation so far:
A) Not going to be playing a harp on a cloud any time soon;
B) Don't speak Spanish.
C) Or Latin.

As it turns out, my boss didn't want me to translate something on the piece of paper he was waving around, which I might have been able to with three years of Latin and two years of Spanish under my belt. He was waving a menu. And he wanted me to call and speak to real Mexicans in their native tongue. I just knew we were having dog food for dinner. Here is how the conversation went, translated from Spanish back into a language I actually do speak.

Real Mexican Person: Hello?
Me: Oh, shit. Uh, hello?
RMP (sigh of resignation): Hello.
Me: Ah, good. I call the restaurant of the name of Mi Poblito. I am called Stacey. How are you?
RMP: (silence)
Me: Good. Good... (pause). At what time does the restaurant have openness in the night?
RMP: In the night?
Me: Yes, yes. Very much we are wanting to know what the time is that the restaurant stands open.
RMP: Stands open?
Me: Yes. Stands open. Very much we are wanting the foods from your very, very good restaurant.
RMP: We are not open at night.
(long pause.)
Me: And but to drive close to you and yes open at night past.
RMP: What?!
Me: Please. We very much want the foods. I am gringa, yes. But the foods are very important. To me. And... to the boss. The boss drive close night past and open, yes.
RMP: No. We are not open at night.
Me: I do not understand. The night past open, yes.
RMP: No. No. Not open.
Me: At what time is the foods to sell?
RMP: (long pause followed by something in Spanish)
Me: I am sorry for it. I do not understand. At what time is the foods to sell? Breakfast?
RMP: Breakfast?!
Me: Yes. In the afternoon. Breakfast.
RMP: Oh. Lunch.
Me: Yes! Lunch! Thank you very much. Lunch is the word I want. Is the foods to sell at the lunch?
RMP: Yes.
Me: And at what time is the lunch not the lunch?
RMP: (something in Spanish that might have been a rude comment about my mother.)
Me: I am sorry for it... The lunch is now?
RMP: No. The lunch (something something, and then a long string of something somethings, at which point I realize this is not working)
Me: Oh. Yes. Very good. I am sorry for it. Thank you. I have hope that the day is good to you.
(Click)

I think Natalya would be very disappointed. But at least when I wanted two enchiladas, I didn't order 12 like I did a few years ago. That was confusing. And, as it turns out, the restaurant is open at night. Just not to idiots like me.