The Five Food-Ordering Techniques

A girl’s gotta eat.  And that means a girl’s gotta order food.  Unfortunately, I have yet to find a method that isn’t embarrassing.  Depending on the country, the cashier, and the restaurant, I use any one of my five techniques for ordering food. 

1) Try saying it in the local language. 

This is obviously the ideal choice.  About 80% of the time I even get the food I want.  It is most successful when the other person speaks English.  Usually I’ll order in French and they just repeat my order back in English.  I used to wonder how they always knew I wasn’t a native speaker but then once I accidentally introduced myself to the cashier instead of ordering.  I think that probably gave it away.

When it goes bad: Once the cashier and I tried it all in French and somehow my chocolate muffin became an M&M McFlurry... without M&Ms. 

2)  Asking what things are.

Particularly effective at la pâtisserie, asking what something is, listening to the description, then agreeing to it is another technique I often use.  In my mind I’m tricking them into thinking I speak their language as I smile and nod while they list the ingredients. 

When it goes bad:  When I don’t actually know what they’re saying, sometimes I just agree to it anyway.  Once I thought I was getting some sort of sweet cheesecake and ended up with flan.

3)  “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Since I strategically place myself behind one of my friends, I often let them struggle through ordering and take notes.  If the person working is particularly unfriendly I usually walk up to them pretending to be as French as possible and just tell them I’ll have “the same”. 

When it goes bad:  On one of our first days here I forgot how to say “the same.”  I figured I’d just use a similar word so all I said was “too.”  They laughed at me.

4)  Use any language.

Spain was really the only place we’ve had major trouble communicating because we kept going to places where they didn’t speak English.  To order, we would just use any language and hope one of the words is similar to a language they speak.

When it goes bad:  While that method is effective for many words, “cheese” is one of the words where this will not work…and we really liked the cheese sandwiches.

5)  Point, nod, smile and take whatever they bring out.

In Spain I often used this technique.  Usually the server understood it to be the universal sign for I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing-here-and-I'm-sorry-you-got-stuck-waiting-on-me-today.-I-hope-this-isn't-too-awkward-for-you and probably made fun of me to my face but what do I care?  I’m just a dumb American.

When it goes bad:  We wanted grilled chicken sandwiches once and the man tried to give us microwaved ham and cheese.  When we finally got him to understand what we wanted he came back and told us they were out of chicken but we would be having “white beef.”  

My First Time in a Police Station

(We get through rough times by laughing at them...you can laugh at them too!  All the other parts of our trip went really well so don't feel bad for us.  We're in Europe!)

“Call your family and tell them how much fun you’re having!” mocked the calling card I found in my purse as we waited.

 After being pick-pocketed within minutes of our arrival in Madrid and walking in the cold to the police station, pepperspray in hand, “fun” wasn’t exactly the word I would use to describe what we were having.

“Well it’s shaped like a hot dog,” I heard Megan saying as she reported her stolen wallet.  "Yes.  A hot dog," she repeated, cringing at his reaction.

I'm not sure what the man on the other side of the phone was thinking at this point but I would imagine he thought he had heard her wrong.  Perhaps there was some translation he had missed.  Or maybe he was talking to a sweet eight-year-old girl who had lost her Monopoly money.

“It’s red and tan and yellow,” she said as she tried to describe it. I hoped she would talk about how the yellow was the mustard that was squiggled across the hot dog or how the hot dog looked up at her with a big smile on its face every time she used it but she said nothing more as she struggled to hold back laughter.

At this point, I imagine phone-man sitting at a desk somewhere, feet propped up on the desk, laughing as he tried to figure out how to make a stolen hot dog wallet sound like a real crime.  Three hours later we finally got to sign the report and leave the police station.  Apparently writing police reports in Spanish for hot dog wallets is as hard as you'd think.

Hoping they would have pity on us, we shivered out in the cold as we asked the police how to get back to our hostel.  It’s after midnight.  We’ve already been robbed.  We’re lost.  We’re cold.  We're hungry.  And the only word I know in Spanish is “arriba”.  Surely they will see this is not a good situation and give us a ride back.  That'd make sense, right?  I was convinced they wouldn't just send us off into the night like that.

Instead, the man pointed up the hill and gave us only one instruction: ¡Arriba!

LineNine and ¡Arriba!

I was wrong. 

All those times I thought I had no idea what people were saying to me because it was in French; I was wrong.  After spending almost a week in Spain, now I know what it means to have no idea what people are saying to me.

Thankfully, the Spanish know to keep their directions simple for us Americans.  Two particular instances come to mind:

1) LineNine

After landing in Madrid, we followed signs in the airport to a train.  We lost track of the arrows at one point and asked an airport employee where we needed to go.

“LineNine,” he informed us in hurried English.

Sounded simple enough.  As we headed towards LineNine we were faced with yet another problem: how do we get through the fare gate?

We knew enough to understand we needed a ticket to get through but the tickets we had just purchased didn’t work.  Luckily, we saw a man standing on the other side of the gate. 

“How do we get to the trains?” we asked him in slow English.

“LineNine,” he also responded.

Right, I see the large nine above the gate and the picture of a train…you know, the one that’s right over my head.

“How do we get through?” we asked him.

“LineNine,” he told us again.

No, that didn’t answer my question.  I see that you might think it’s funny because you’re already through but it’s significantly less funny being on the other side of the gate.

“Where can I buy a ticket?” we asked him, including a few motions in case he just hadn’t understood our question last time.

“LineNine,” he responded and then turned his back to us.

Thanks.  That really cleared up all my questions.

2) Arriba

In Barcelona, we decided to search for a post office.  When we got to the department store where the post office supposedly was, we saw a sign for it and a big arrow pointing up.

So up we went.

And up.

And up.

After taking the escalator up four times, we thought we had perhaps missed the post office.  We found a cashier and pointed to our postcards.

“Arriba,” she commanded us while pointing above her.  We had already arriba-ed, lady, but we'll try it a few more times.

So up we went--past the boys’ clothing, past the housewares, past the appliances… We had to be following her directions correctly, right?  She pointed up.  This was the only way up.  As we arrived at each floor, we looked around thinking surely we had arriba-ed enough.  After mutually agreeing the post office was not on that floor we would look at each other and yell, “¡Arriba!”

“¡Arriba!”

“¡Arriba!”

Nine floors later we arrived at our destination and decided we should never, ever doubt arriba again.

A Room for 12

“Megan,” I whispered at 7:30am to the bed below me, “I hate Madrid.”

AWHOOOOOGA

“What?” she whispered back, careful not to wake the homeless man beside her.

“I,” I waited for the alarm to sound again.

AWHOOOOOGA

“HATE,”

AWHOOOOOGA

“Madrid,” I finally finished.

AWHOOOOOGA

“Me too,” she responded as we laughed at our lives.

When I reserved our spots in a 12-bed, co-ed room, I imagined it would be a slightly more scandalous version of summer camp.  We could change our clothes in the bathroom and as long as they didn’t mind my risqué pajamas (sweatpants and a t-shirt), we would make a great cabin.  No big deal.

The first night of camp every cabin always makes a Cabin Covenant, addressing anticipated problems that might occur during the week.  Unfortunately, we forgot to make our Cabin Covenant in Madrid.  At camp, a typical Cabin Covenant looks something like this (complete with pink crayon and yellow construction paper):

     :) Have a good attitude

     :) Try everything once

     :) Respect each other

     :) Respect others’ belongings

     :) HAVE FUN!!!

If we had made a Madrid Cabin Covenant, it would have needed to look more like this:

     Alarm clocks must be turned off immediately and definitely not 30 minutes later

     Do not turn the overhead lights on when you come back at 2:00am

     Excuse yourself from the room for all bodily noises

     Shower when you start smelling bad

     Do not hang your underwear all over the room

So a hostel isn’t really like camp.  That, of course, is no reason to hate a city.  Lucky for you, I'll soon be posting about some of our other Spain experiences (including three hours with the policia) so that maybe you'll understand our temporary hatred of Madrid.

No need to worry...

The lack of posts is not because I have suddenly figured out Europe.  I've been traveling through Spain and will be finishing my trip with a little stint in Paris.  Check back in a week or so to begin reading about all the embarrassing things that happen while I travel!

GUIDE TO PICKING UP AMERICAN GIRLS: WHAT NOT TO DO

Dear boys all over France,

You’re right.  My friends here are all sweet, fun, beautiful, kind, and American.  I can see how you would be interested in getting to know them.  For your convenience I have provided you with a short list of actions (based off real experiences) so that perhaps you can stop wasting your time.

Scenario 1: Group of American girls talking together on bus

Do NOT leave your spot to grab your English-speaking friend from the back of the bus to eavesdrop on our conversation.  We are not, in fact, talking about how much we wish you would butt into our conversation and his plethora of English catch-phrases will neither impress us nor make up for your creepy staring.

Result: We will laugh at you as you desperately wave at us after exiting the bus.

Thinking about trying to talk to us in French instead of getting your friend?

Alternative Result: “This boy is trying to talk to me in French and I don’t have any idea what he’s saying.”  This will also lead to us laughing with her and continuing to pretend you’re not there.

Scenario 2: Group of American girls…just about anywhere

Do NOT stare.  Really.  That’s quite rude.  It is particularly creepy to stare when the other person is asleep.  “When I wake up from a nap on the train, my eyes should not be locked with yours.”

Result: We will avoid looking in that direction for the remainder of the ride.

Scenario 3: Group of American girls sitting silently, trying to get you to stop staring

Do NOT try to get me to help you hit on my best friend.  A statement such as “Your friend is so beautiful.  What is his name?” is both offensive and a waste of time. 

Result: I will tell you in perfect English that I don’t speak English and hope you get the hint.

Scenario 4: Beautiful, curly-haired American girl lives next to your friend

Do NOT, under any circumstances, think that it is cute (or even acceptable) to create a photoshopped image of her using pictures off Facebook.  You may call yourself an artist but I will always refer to you as her creeper.

Result:  I will email photoshopped image to all of my favorite people in the U.S. and set it as my computer background.  She will never answer her door again.

Although this is by no means an exhaustive list, I hope it has provided you with some useful information.  If you are thinking that perhaps you will try one of the listed techniques because you think you can perform it better, you can't.  Please take this as a warning.

You're welcome,

Katie

Service with a Smile :)

I’m an American.  I’ve been raised in a shopping environment that tells me I’m always right while they serve me with a smile.  I am entitled to unnecessary smalltalk as I stand at the checkout counter "I am doing well today, thank you.  Yes, I do hope the rain stops before this weekend and, no, I can’t believe how cold it’s been lately.  I think I found everything ok today." and I expect to always be considered a "valued customer."

“Maybe they are just too busy to smalltalk at the checkout counter,” I rationalize with myself as I attempt to bag my items.  Who can make smalltalk when there’s food flying down the checkout line like that? 

The cashier doesn’t slow down as I am left with a test of my spatial reasoning abilities.  I’ve got to figure out how I’m going to fit my potatoes in this bag and now my bananas are here but I’ve still got to put a box of yogurt somewhere.  Maybe if I move the ham here it will give the carrots a place to go.  As I pull the apples back out of my bag, I look up to see the rest of my food being to pile up at the end of the conveyor belt.

I can’t fall behind on my bagging.  It’s a sort of test to see if I can make it in France and I’m not about to fail.

Now it’s almost time to pay.  Do I finish bagging first?  Do I stop bagging and dig out my wallet?  Why don’t I remember what the person in front of me did?

Really, it’s quite stressful.  The worst part is the pressure that the cashiers add because of their facial expressions.  I know my bag is an overflowing mess right now.  Can’t you just have a good laugh about it with me?

No.  They can’t.  Instead, they just stare, unintentionally sending a message of impatience. 

Tell me, please, how I am expected to quickly bag my groceries when someone is looking at me like this man. 

When it comes time to pay, I often just grab a bill that looks like it will be more than enough for whatever I purchased.  In a place with eight different coins, I don’t think I’ve ever managed to pay with exact change.  One of the other girls here often pays with exact change, if you consider her holding her hands out full of change and having the cashier pick through what is needed as “paying with exact change.”

Finally, they hand me a receipt and sometimes I receive some type of small sticker.  I don't always get one.  I never know when I will get one.  And I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it...but you better believe I thank that cashier every time I get one, pretending like I know exactly where I'll put it.