When I began Spanish language classes, 18 weeks ago, they told us to cultivate native speakers as friends and to try to practice anywhere we could. They wanted us to fully immerse ourselves in the language in any and every possible way. Some people in my group go out to eat Latin American food every Wednesday to practice. And some go on immersion trips to Ecuador. One guy even has regularly scheduled chats with a Spanish speaking au pair once a week. (At least, that's what he tells his wife he's doing.)
I have gone to Spanish mass, I watch Univision, I work out to Spanish on my iPod, and I occasionally try to eavesdrop on the Hispanic crew renovating our building. But to actually talk in Spanish outside the comfort of the classroom, is, honestly, super frightening. Other than a couple of broken conversations with our housekeeper that fizzled as quickly as they started, I have remained mute to the Spanish speaking community. I have come close to starting other conversations with people in Spanish a few times, but I have always lost the nerve for one reason or another. Mainly that I don't want to sound like a two-year-old.
For example, there is a gas station down the street that I have been into a few times. The girl that is usually behind the counter speaks Spanish. I know this because the little, old Hispanic women that come into the store when I am there talk to her in Spanish. Still, no matter how hard I try to force myself, I can't do it. I guess you never do quite outgrow that high school fear of looking like an idiot with everyone laughing and pointing at you.
Finally, this week I decided it was time. I was going to overcome my fear and chat up a random stranger in Spanish. I would simply wait for the perfect opportunity. I was registering Benjy at a parochial preschool for the fall, when that opportunity presented itself, almost as if divinely ordained. The woman making copies, filling out papers, and taking the money appeared Latina. It was a church, so I figured that I was safe. I mean, after all, would someone who worked at a church be mean to me if my Spanish wasn't all that great? Probably not. Given the fact that it was a church school, she had brown skin, and the obvious fact that almost every sign in the place was in both English and Spanish, I came to the logical conclusion that she must speak Spanish. This was my time to shine.
So, there I am, as she processes the paperwork, thinking, "I wonder if I can try out my Spanish. How should I broach the subject? Should I just try to talk to her in Spanish, or should I ask her first?" I just can't decide. Finally she finishes the registration, and I mentally kick myself for having missed a golden opportunity. Then she offers a tour of the school, and I secretly rejoice for one more chance to wow her with my Spanish skills. "Sure," I say, trying to appear nonchalant, "that would be great."
When we reach the third empty classroom --far from anyone else that might be listening--I go for it. I can't let this opportunity slip away again. It's now or never.
"You speak Spanish, right?" I blurt out with confidence.
"Actually," she responds, "no, I'm from India." Open mouth, insert foot.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. I just assumed. Where in India?" I ask in an attempt to save face.
"It's okay. It happens all the time," she lies to make me feel better. "I'm from Bombay."
"Isn't that called Mumbai, now?"
"Yes," she responds with a smile, "by everyone who isn't from Bombay."
And that's when I actually swallowed my foot. Way to fix the situation, Chris. Maybe next week I can try again, hopefully with an actual native Spanish speaker.
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