I have been working on a project in my new job and I must say, it’s been a real eye opener. You see, the people around me are very smart, by far the smartest bunch of co-workers I have ever had the pleasure to work with, and that’s saying a lot.
After all, I think I’m very smart. Testing has somewhat supported that belief, so I’m just not blowing stuff out my sphincter.
But the people at work. Wow! If I did my math right, the couple dozen people in my office speak about a dozen or so different languages. One of my co-workers alone speaks five languages, including English, of course.
Me, I speak one fluently, a second if I’ve had five shots of tequila. Even then, I’m not sure I am really speaking Spanish or if I just think I am.
But that’s really splitting hairs. If I was honest with myself, then I would have to shelve the Espanol as being any language, even a one-and-a-half language, especially as I stand in the shadow of all my bilingual, tri-lingual and quin-lingual friends at work.
I really wish I had continued to pay attention to all that Spanish I learned in high school. I had, after all, taken three years of the language. I was an honors student in it, and not because my teacher wanted to sleep with me, though looking back, I certainly would have taken my best shot at it if she had asked.
Back in the day, we had three choices at my high school: French, German and Spanish. While I love a woman who can speak French to me, particularly at certain times of the day in certain parts of the home, it didn’t interest me as a language to learn.
German (and sorry in advance, Heidi), was a bit difficult for me as a language. I didn’t think I wanted to learn it, even though at the time my grandparents spoke it and perhaps I could finally understand them if I put some effort into it.
I ended up with Spanish largely because it was an easy language to learn. I mean, how can you go wrong with a language where the word for hospital is hospital and you just don’t pronounce the ‘h’ to make it Spanish.
Nowadays, the kids have all sorts of options. At my son’s high school, I think he can choose the “big three” above as well as Russian, Arabic and Mandarin.
I had actually thought of taking Mandarin in community college. They had just started teaching the language at Green River Community College. Given the fact that China went on to be a rather big deal in the world economy, it would have benefitted me greatly.
It certainly would have served me well with my present position. Then I could say I actually speak two languages instead of my pedestrian one, the one that everyone seems to know.
I know that it’s never been a topic of conversation during a date. No one has said, “Oh my, you speak English?” Perhaps they would have if I dated someone in Miami, but for the most part, you’d only get that kind of response with a more exotic language, and something that isn’t your native tongue. Something like, “Oh, you speak Bolivian?”
Yeah, I know they speak Spanish in Bolivia, but it sounds more impressive to say that you speak a more obscure language. In fact, the more obscure it is, the more likely you are to get some action on a date.
Well, that’s not exactly true. Men who speak Italian trump all other languages in the “Am I going to get lucky tonight?” department, just as a woman who speaks French is going to move up to the top of the list of the “I want to sleep with you tonights.”
It’s the language pecking order. Russian is pretty much at the bottom of the pecking order, largely because it always sounds angry. Even in the heat of passion, a Russian woman will sound like she is belittling you, even if she’s uttering the most heartfelt, romantic words ever spoken by a human being. She could be reciting Shakespeare in Russian and you’d be certain that she wants you to take the garbage out right now, even though you’re not through doing the horizontal mambo yet.
Like blondes, women who speak another language have been a rarity for me, at least when it comes to matters of the heart. Oh, I’ve known some wing-dingers who spoke more than one language who set my heart afire, but the fire soon went out and their cunning-dualingus was never fully or fruitfully explored.
They would dangle a sweet line or two now and then, never planning to deliver full on linguistic love where I could also dangle my participle. Instead, they would tease and then wave me off with an “arrivederci” or a “adieux,” one of those typical foreign goodbyes that always seem to start with the letter A. Then they would be off without me getting off.
I even thought I hit pay dirt when I met a girl of Mayan (say it out loud once). I thought this girl was a sure thing – and she was – but not in the language department. Even though her father was fluent in Spanish, I know this because he would let fly with it every time he was upset, she could not speak a lick of it.
Man, was that a disappointment. Here I am in Florida where nearly everyone speaks Spanish as a first language and the girl of my then dreams can’t even conjure up an “Hola” or an “Adios” in her daily speech.
Well, she finally did manage an Adios, but not in the way I wanted. What is it with these damned “A” goodbyes?
In the Emerald City, feeling pretty lonely with just English to hang my wordy, wordy hat on,
– Robb