lost in translation

They don’t know what to make of me. Yes? They look at me quizzically, not sure what I’m doing there. Once it took three people to figure out what I wanted. The first thought he didn’t understand me and sent me to a second, who shook his head and called over a third.

“A table? A menu? You’re serving dinner?”

One wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to communicate the desire for a table upon entering a restaurant.

“You’re waiting for someone?”


“By yourself? You want a table for yourself?”


They look at me suspiciously. But eventually I am shown a table.

At least they don’t try to give me relationship advice. That’s territory best left to taxi drivers.

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