On Oct 12, 2005, at 0:12, A Y Farrell (Yvonne) wrote:
THIRD TESTIMONY:
My sister and I were at the mall and passed by a store that sold a
variety of
candy and nuts. As we were looking at the display case, the boy
behind the
counter asked if we needed any help. I replied, No, I'm just looking
at your
nuts. My sister started to laugh hysterically. The boy grinned, and
I turned
beet-red and walked away. To this day, my sister has never let me
forget.
Reminds me of the time I went to the Christmas decoration shop. My
friend
and I were looking for a sales assistant. We finally spotted a young
man
working in the corner. I told to my friend to just forget him I had to
find
a female assistant. I couldn't ask him if he had clear glass balls. She
promptly ageed with me.
I trashed the posting without reading through, because I remembered
seeing it before and knew I wasn't gonna forward. But, testimony 3 and
Yvonne's story reminded me of a funny (linguistically speaking)
encounter I had myself...
Summer of 1992, Poland.
My Mother being dead for 2.5 yrs, I begin to pick up some mental pieces
and, while visiting my father, try to spread as much American fat as
I can, to make his life easier. I bring several jars of peanut butter
(no accounting for taste g) and a couple of bottles of sour-mash
bourbon (which both of us enjoy g, but would like to pick stuff up
locally... He's too proud to *tell me* what he might like, but I notice
that he's having problems with the phone; he can't hear it very well,
and he's not nimble on his feet - by the time he gets to it, it's too
late. Clearly, he needs a phone with an answering machine...
So, I take myself off to a phone shop, and discuss the options with
the young and spotty male in charge. I know a wee-bit about it, having
purchased one for our home 8 months earlier, and thrill to see a model
almost identical to the one in my hall, but am interested in the Polish
puter language as much as anything else...
He offers the most expensive model first (post '88 Poland does not
differ much from US) and, since it happens to be the one most similiar
to the model I got for my home in Lexington, I'm willing to listen.
Once past the general spiel, I ask:
The caller's message is recorded on a micro-tape, yes?
Yes, he confirms.
So, where's my message, saying sorry, can't answer right now, please
leave a message recorded? I know ( a chip), but I want to know the
Polish equivalent...
The spotty young man turns Soviet-red, with the spots shining beety...
we record that on a czipa. Um... I turn somewhat pinkish myself;
czipa, in Warsaw slang, is cunt, and I stopped saying that word
(and some others, equally nasty) at 26, when I knew I was pregnant; I
didn't want my child to inherit a sewer for a mouth... :) But, the
embarassing situation was *up to me* to resolve, because I was easily
old enough to be the clerk's mother...
Do you have a phone with a very loud ringer? I asked brightly. And
large, easy to see, numbers? Preferably on a circular dial, not a punch
pad? The youngster was very obliging and that's what I left the shop
with, both of us relieved.
My father, once told of the exchange, snickered at czipa and spouted
off for half an hour about the corruption of the Polish language but,
eventually, said I'm glad you didn't get the one with the answering
machine; a loud ringer is best. If I don't make it to the phone in
time, they can call again later, if it's important
--
Tamara P Duvallhttp://t-n-lace.net/
Lexington, Virginia, USA (Formerly of Warsaw, Poland)
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