The Vicissitudes of International Language Communication, Misunderstandins, and Consequences

Hey! Despite the light and airy title this is serious stuff!

I needed new underwear. Having searched numerous small shops in El Centro I wasn't having much luck.

I'd heard about big Mall Dell Rio so I flagged a taxi and went.

Pretty standard indoor mall with stores and a food court complete with Burger King and KFC.

I hadn't learned the Spanish term for my need so in my first store I gestured by pulling on the band of my shorts. With a somewhat alarmed look the young lady said that her store lacked those things and pointed me to another. I asked for the Spanish term commonly used for men's underwear. She rattled off two words of four syllables each. Responding to my blank stare she simplified it to “ropas interiores.”

No more women clerks for me. At the next store a slim very fashionably dressed young man with a gelled rooster's comb of hair walked me over to the men's bikini/thong underwear section featuring male enhancement as part of its package.

“Whoa”, I said, “I'm an old hombre and that's not for me.” He giggled and I ambled on to continue my search.

Finally, there was an anchor store resembling Costco. Looked like a membership place to me because it had little gates. When I asked the gate monitor he just stared. (sometimes I wonder if Spanish is the native language down here because I get that a lot when I speak it.)

When I observed several other people pass through the gate I boldly sauntered across. Had to speak with a woman this time because she approached me. Using my new Spanish words I asked where to go.

She pointed left then down and said something like “fssst fssst” then darted away with me in tow. Again the thongs but there were also boxers – at $12 a pop. I said no gracias and proceeded to the exit gates.

Halfway along my right elbow was nudged by a middle aged man 6 inches shorter than me and nearly half my weight. He asked if I speak English then introduced himself as Pablo.

Pablo queried my purpose there. When I told him he menacingly whispered about an inch from face “why?” The only response I could think of was “because I need some”.

Now here's where it gets curious. I was on my way to the exit under his obvious guidance. He said “second floor” and I was about to thank him when he said “there is a KFC there that has chicken. You like chicken?” I started thinking that this guy is nuts and sped up my retreat. He kept apace.

A senorita at the exit gate looked agitated at us. “Thank God, I was out of there” we both thought. I didn't look back but I know that they were circling their forefingers around their temples. I wanted to do the same but feared an international incident.

Over a beer, I told my friend Paolo, who laughed heartily then confirmed that I'd been profiled as a crazy gringo by store security.