I was listenting to whiny progressive radio bloviator Ed Schultz on Monday. He was whining about ordering food at the Miami airport. There was a language issue. Ed's Spanish is not muy bueno, apparently. I pushed in a Warren Zevon CD before Schultz's whining sent me into a sputtering rage. "Lawyers, Guns and Money" quelled me.
Then I thought about a language issue I encountered at the Puyallup farmers market on Saturday. I'd ordered pork and steak sandwiches. While we waited, my wife chatted up one of owners of the sandwich stand about her plans to open a restaurant in the South Hill area.
Although English was obviously the woman's second language, I understood every word she said.
Then the woman served another customer.
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"Jake," she said timidly and softly, unsure of her pronunciation. "Jake? ... Jake?"
"Say it louder," snaped her son, who was working the cash register.
Disgust and embarasment in the kid's voice were palpable.
I enjoyed the sandwiches.
But the way that kid talked to his mother left a bad taste in my mouth.