Avatars at the Mall

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A rainy Monday afternoon

Nothing to do but go to the mall. Avatar had opened a few days before. Good ol’ American high tech escapism. We were tempted, but too tired, to wait for the 3D showing three hours later. We felt like tired, shabby avatars ourselves. Just enough time for American mall junk food. What a treat! I figured I could order while Maureen looked for sushi. Or so I thought. Pointing, in flawless high school Spanish I ordered menu item #2, a double cheese burger.

“Uno?” the young lady at the counter asked.

“Uhh, si, uno de numero dos,” I replied.

“Dos?” “Uhhh, si, numero dos, doble.” She paused, looking at me, like I wasn’t done, so I added, for clarity, “Hamburguesa con queso.”

“You want two?”

“Uhhhhh….”

We looked at each other doubtfully. Cool Hand Luke came to mind. “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” Again, the supervisor must be summoned to help the retarded gringo. Same questions, same answers, and it all worked out. And, bless you dear counter lady, for not giving me The Look.

Later, back in Cofradia

My head finally on a pillow in another hot and humid night, listening once more to the nightly town choir, hearing again for the first time with more experienced ears. Rooster tenors were protecting or harassing their hens, singing “Halelieua, I survived one more day, knowing I am a cheap source of protein and my unborn children will be scrambled for baleadas.” I listened to the bass section, the scattered barking that is private security, or just announcing “I’m still here” either to, or on behalf of, their owners. “We will still be here tomorrow too, God willing. Maybe I'll find a scrap.”

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Comments

[Marcia]

Roosters are the worst of their gender. The never protect the hens. Nice attempt at brotherhood, though.