12 February 2012
Ok,
so normal service is resumed. Now where were we, oh yes…………
THE SPANISH CONCIERGE AND THE MORAL DILEMMA
Sunday was a quiet day; we shopped and relaxed and in the evening Antonio, Charlene’s boyfriend, was coming round to sample an Irish Sunday Roast, made by my Alena’s own fair hand.
Now the only problem was this guy only spoke Spanish and, while that was no hurdle for Charlene, Robyn, Chole and even Alena (who has a pretty good grip of the lingo), I being a monolingual Brit was in for a bit of a difficult time. To add to the problem we were the only two blokes so therefore should be talking about football, politics, sex and other manly preoccupations; this was not going to be easy!.
Anyhow, he eventually arrived and the 5 of us settled down for a chat. The girls acted as translators and, if there was a joke made, it was like a satellite link with a 5 second delay before the laugh. It was at the point when Antonio was describing his job that I suddenly realized it was the same as mine and I said ‘you are a concierge!’ He looked bewildered, so I asked one of the girls to translate but still it didn’t register.
Here was a man, with a job with a French name, and he didn’t even know it! To make it worse, as we delved deeper, we discovered that the Spanish had gone and made up their own word ‘Conserje’ to cover this occupation, so he couldn’t have job with a French name even if he wanted. Poor man! Ah well, serves him right for being Spanish!
As the afternoon progressed the girls slowly drifted off into the kitchen to indulge in woman’s work and, eventually, the dreaded moment came when Antonio and I were left on our own. Now, Alena had warned me that, should this situation occur, I was not to start speaking loudly in English and adding ‘O’ to the end of every word! She explained that that does not constitute speaking Spanish. Although, personally, I find it works very well! Anyway, being a good husband and determined not to make a fool of the whole family, I didn’t attempt my pigeon lingo. Instead, we smiled and nodded sagely at each other and it was clear that both of us were going through our very limited vocabularies trying to think of something to say.
Each of us looked occasionally like we were about to speak, as we thought of a word we knew, but then returned to blank looks as we couldn’t think of any other words to go with it to make up a sentence. I trawled my brain for any Spanish phrases I knew but, “Will this cream fix piles” or “How much for a happy ending” (that’s if you ever get a Spanish massage) didn’t seem appropriate.
Eventually, we solved the problem in the only way possible and turned on the tele. Sorted!
Our Sunday roast was soon ready and we sat down to enjoy a delicious meal and the craic was good. After dinner, we played a card game which involved saying numbers which was, fortunately, within my Spanish limits and a jolly fine time was had by all. Anyhow, Antonio left fairly early as he had to be up for his work as a Conserje (that’s a job with a Spanish name) and the rest of us settled down for a wee dram and a chat.
After a while the talk got around to moral dilemmas and, as the family had a rabbit and a dog, I asked who would eat them for £1 million. The kids were horrified and said ‘No!’ but Alena and I had to admit we probably would as we didn’t know the animals. As we dropped the asking price Alena and I dropped out at about 1/2million but Charleen, the owner of aforementioned animals, got down to around £5 and a pack of 10 regal. Those animals better hope she never gets hungry.
I then came out with my favourite dilemma and Lyndsay, my eldest, should remember this.
One evening, quite a few years back, my phone beeped to say there was a text message. As I went to read it the phone rang and it was my darling Lyndsay.
Lyns : “Dad. Did you just get a text from me?”
Me : “Yes. I am just about to read it”
Lyns : “Well don’t. It was meant for ***** (her boyfriend at the time) and is not something you’ll want to read”
Me : “Oh that sounds interesting”
Lyns : almost pleading “Dad, don’t read it. Promise?”
Me : “Hmmm. OK, I’ll delete it”
Well, poor ole Lyns has, I am sure, been wondering to this day if I deleted it or read it and its time for the truth to be told…………………
I deleted it……………..How good am I?.
So ever since I have asked this question as a moral dilemma and unbelievably about 90% of people say they would have read it. Nosey bastards ….. How bad are they?
So which group do you fall into??
Tomorrow the final part ........ THE SPANISH ZOO
THE SPANISH CONCIERGE AND THE MORAL DILEMMA
Sunday was a quiet day; we shopped and relaxed and in the evening Antonio, Charlene’s boyfriend, was coming round to sample an Irish Sunday Roast, made by my Alena’s own fair hand.
Now the only problem was this guy only spoke Spanish and, while that was no hurdle for Charlene, Robyn, Chole and even Alena (who has a pretty good grip of the lingo), I being a monolingual Brit was in for a bit of a difficult time. To add to the problem we were the only two blokes so therefore should be talking about football, politics, sex and other manly preoccupations; this was not going to be easy!.
Anyhow, he eventually arrived and the 5 of us settled down for a chat. The girls acted as translators and, if there was a joke made, it was like a satellite link with a 5 second delay before the laugh. It was at the point when Antonio was describing his job that I suddenly realized it was the same as mine and I said ‘you are a concierge!’ He looked bewildered, so I asked one of the girls to translate but still it didn’t register.
Here was a man, with a job with a French name, and he didn’t even know it! To make it worse, as we delved deeper, we discovered that the Spanish had gone and made up their own word ‘Conserje’ to cover this occupation, so he couldn’t have job with a French name even if he wanted. Poor man! Ah well, serves him right for being Spanish!
As the afternoon progressed the girls slowly drifted off into the kitchen to indulge in woman’s work and, eventually, the dreaded moment came when Antonio and I were left on our own. Now, Alena had warned me that, should this situation occur, I was not to start speaking loudly in English and adding ‘O’ to the end of every word! She explained that that does not constitute speaking Spanish. Although, personally, I find it works very well! Anyway, being a good husband and determined not to make a fool of the whole family, I didn’t attempt my pigeon lingo. Instead, we smiled and nodded sagely at each other and it was clear that both of us were going through our very limited vocabularies trying to think of something to say.
Each of us looked occasionally like we were about to speak, as we thought of a word we knew, but then returned to blank looks as we couldn’t think of any other words to go with it to make up a sentence. I trawled my brain for any Spanish phrases I knew but, “Will this cream fix piles” or “How much for a happy ending” (that’s if you ever get a Spanish massage) didn’t seem appropriate.
Eventually, we solved the problem in the only way possible and turned on the tele. Sorted!
Our Sunday roast was soon ready and we sat down to enjoy a delicious meal and the craic was good. After dinner, we played a card game which involved saying numbers which was, fortunately, within my Spanish limits and a jolly fine time was had by all. Anyhow, Antonio left fairly early as he had to be up for his work as a Conserje (that’s a job with a Spanish name) and the rest of us settled down for a wee dram and a chat.
After a while the talk got around to moral dilemmas and, as the family had a rabbit and a dog, I asked who would eat them for £1 million. The kids were horrified and said ‘No!’ but Alena and I had to admit we probably would as we didn’t know the animals. As we dropped the asking price Alena and I dropped out at about 1/2million but Charleen, the owner of aforementioned animals, got down to around £5 and a pack of 10 regal. Those animals better hope she never gets hungry.
I then came out with my favourite dilemma and Lyndsay, my eldest, should remember this.
One evening, quite a few years back, my phone beeped to say there was a text message. As I went to read it the phone rang and it was my darling Lyndsay.
Lyns : “Dad. Did you just get a text from me?”
Me : “Yes. I am just about to read it”
Lyns : “Well don’t. It was meant for ***** (her boyfriend at the time) and is not something you’ll want to read”
Me : “Oh that sounds interesting”
Lyns : almost pleading “Dad, don’t read it. Promise?”
Me : “Hmmm. OK, I’ll delete it”
Well, poor ole Lyns has, I am sure, been wondering to this day if I deleted it or read it and its time for the truth to be told…………………
I deleted it……………..How good am I?.
So ever since I have asked this question as a moral dilemma and unbelievably about 90% of people say they would have read it. Nosey bastards ….. How bad are they?
So which group do you fall into??
Tomorrow the final part ........ THE SPANISH ZOO
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