no movie, but blueberries

Last week I tried to making it out for a screening of The Baxter and stood in line waiting for our friend to bring back food from the Mexican place across the street.

Some pushy mom of the two young teenagers behind us was determined to get in without waiting and went ahead to haggle, whine and demand to jump ahead. After five minutes our line started to move and we caught up to the mom annoyed that the screening was already full and the crowd was left with t-shirts and hats for the craptastic movie The Skeleton Key. Glen was still across the street securing food, figure we might as well make a dinner out of the cancelled effort.

Before I continue with another lame story, let me tell you a few things:

Now I’m Hispanic, born to a New Yorker (with family ties to Spain) and my mom is from Guatemala.
I cannot speak Spanish. - I can’t even count to ten in Spanish, but I do understand it in context.
I can count easily in German
My mom’s Chinese food was better than anything Mexican she tried cooking
I’ve never been south of San Diego.
My friends could survive on the Spanish they know. I would end up dead.
Two of them are Japanese.

Basically I’m very white bread.

So Irish looking friend orders her food, followed by my combo order when the order takers switches into Spanish. As the order placer I'm asked if I wanted anything else or something like that, normal order processing follow-ups.

“Um what? Sorry I don't speak Spanish,” even though I knew the gist of what was said as there are few variations in the ordering process no matter where you eat. My friend says something like "oh your white friends speak it better than you do."

“Yeah. I'm a disappointment to my parents” spoken with an overly pathetic tone. Cashier guy looks me over with a slight shame for our race and keeps asking me if I wanted a drink, what size, etc. while my friend translates. I’m going along with the lessening fun until he asked if I was a Guero in a snide way, thinking I had no clue how he meant it.

Fucker! I hate that shit. My playing dumb look quickly disappeared from face, replaced with a straight up glare. He understood but shrugged it off.

There wasn’t much I could do after that since the quality of my dinner was in his hands and you never want to piss off the people handling the food. At least the food was yummy and everyone had a good laugh which turned into let’s make fun of Robert, then degrading into let’s mock Robert’s blog in public.

“Wow this salsa is good”
“Oh did you think ‘swoon, swoon, swoon’ when you put it in your mouth?”

“These tacos are good" or something like that.
“Oh are they as good as laying her head on your chest watching Daria?”

Yeah funny.

Having friends quote your blog out of context is the most embarrassing thing next to the strangers in the ordering line. The riding turned into getting shit for going on a date I blogged about earlier. I responded that people go on dates all the time in this world. “No it’s not that people date. It that you went on a date that’s amazing. Normal people go on dates. Not you.”

Yeah thanks.

We headed down to Farmers Market afterwards and drank a pitcher of Stella and talked while my friend went and devoured a whole box of blueberries. Then stuff happened...

um I went home and slept.