Today began like most other days. Kate ran to catch the tram and the boys and I loaded in the car so we could drop Joe off at the bottom of the hill, and we could head on to school. Mack and I returned home to clean up, do some dishes, read a few books, watch a little Paw Patrol (his favorite) while I showered, and then we were off to do some recycling, drop off some shirts at the dry cleaners, and then head to the doctor to get my bum knee checked out.
As we left my appointment, I thought I'd run to the store to grab a few things before Jake and Luke's friends came over to play this afternoon... I filled our bags and Mack ate his way through the store...a soft pretzel, some yogurt, a spinach pastry...all the while, waving at people and saying, "heyyo one people!!!"
As I made my way back to the meat section, I thought of my conversation last night with Jen, and decided I needed to make some of Nana's homemade meatballs again. This always brings me just a touch of anxiety, because this means that I have to actually go to the butcher at the store and TALK to him. Nana's recipe calls for a little veal mixed in with the rest of the meat. Now, I can find all of the other meat I need, on my own. But the veal--I have to ask for. So, I took a deep breath and grabbed my google translate so I could remember how to say veal in German.
I have been taking German lessons 2x a week for 90 minutes each for the last few months. And I'd say I'm at about a level that equates to Mack's 2 year old level of English. I rarely have a clue what people say to me when they respond back to my questions...but if I'm face to face, then I can sometimes figure out what they are trying to tell me. Hence, my anxiety. Why are everyday tasks so complicated by language barriers?!!!!!!!
I took a deep breath, remembered that veal was "Kalbfleisch" and I also remembered that google translate doesn't do a great job of how to ask for GROUND veal. So, I went and got a package of ground beef, knowing that I could point and be ok. I went to the counter and asked in my best German if they had veal. The man said "Ja," and I did a little celebration dance inside that he understood me. Then I pointed to the package of ground beef that I had in my hand and explained with plenty of hand motions that I wanted the veal like that. Ground. Another "Ja." And another squeal of excitement within. Then I could only guess that he would ask how much I needed. Which was indeed, his question. I'm still not good in kg's. I know this about myself. And I don't know how to speak in numbers that are less than zero! But alas, I had thought about this all before heading to the counter, so, I grabbed the ground beef and looked at the weight and said to the butcher,
"Punkt drei kilograms, Bitte." Point 3 kg. (Because, by the way, every butcher I have talked to does not speak English. And so I sat back and smiled. I didn't really need that much. In fact, maybe a quarter of that for 1 batch of meatballs. But maybe I would make a double batch and freeze the rest, I thought as I waited. Mack and I watched as he grabbed a huge piece and started to clean it and cut it to prepare to be ground. It was taking him a while, so I turned to help Mack with some of his snacks and when I turned back around, in horror, I realized he had ground 3 KILOS of veal for me. Not 0.3 kilos. Oh ya. 120 Swiss Francs and 3 KILOS of ground veal later, I left the counter. I didn't have the vocabulary to explain our misunderstanding, and I wasn't about to hand back all of that meat after all of the time he took to prepare it for me.
I was thrown back to the time in Santiago when I was feeling comfortable enough in Spanish to brave things like the phone and drive-throughs. The kids had wanted a McDonald's McFlurry. I drove up to the speaker and ordered 3 of them... when I got to the window to pay and pick up, they handed me 8 Sprites. Oh ya.
And so, my daily tasks still take bravery, humility, extra brain power and a lot of humiliation. It's no wonder I am not as efficient in life as I'd like to be!!! At least I don't have to go back to the butcher for a REALLY LONG TIME...
No comments:
Post a Comment