Lost in Translation

Last Wednesday around six o'clock I rolled down the steps of Think-A-Holic Lounge a little later than usual from having my afternoon shot of think-a-hol and a bubbly chaser. And that was because I'd had several of them in a row and that kind of dedicated imbibing takes a wee bit of time.

Anyway, across the alley I spotted this sorry-looking jasper (see pic) sitting in front of an old abandoned garage that had been slated for demolition sometime in the last century but which remained standing due to a lack of code enforcement in this part of the galaxy. I felt sorry for the old coot and asked him if he needed a ride somewhere.

"No hablo Español," he replied without even looking my way and despite the fact that I had spoken to him in English, not Spanish.

I thought I'd try asking him the same question again, even though he still refused to look me squarely in the eye.

"Je ne comprends pas le français," the old coot said, still not looking at me. Why he thought I was speaking French was beyond me. I tried to ask him if he needed a ride anywhere one more time. And in English, again, because that's the only language I know.

"Ich verstehe nicht Deutsches," he replied in fluent German.

That did it for me. I had no intentions of asking him any more questions. I was actually more miffed by his refusal to look at me than by his insistence that I was speaking to him in languages other than English. I decided to approach him and see if that would make him look at me. But, when I stood right in front of him, I could see that the crazy old codger was asleep. And with his eyes open.

I left him there as he began to snore. Then I went home and profusely thanked my lucky stars that the old man on the bench was not me.