Ladies and gentlemen, it has finally arrived. I’ve known for a long time that this day was coming – the writing was most definitely on the wall. It is a day that I’ve dreaded; a day that I knew would upset the balance in society, challenge the basic order of things, and rattle the foundation of our community.
With the dawn of this day comes the dawn of a new era in American history; an era of unwanted change. This change has been fought against by countless individuals (myself included) but fought for by many others.
And now it would seem that they have won; the day of change is upon us.
No, I’m not talking about the Election Day that left the democrats in charge of the legislature – I’m talking about something far more dire and sinister - the day that I could no longer order a Subway sandwich because the employee behind the counter only speaks Spanish.
Laugh if you must, but mark my words – this is the beginning of the end.
It all started innocently enough; I was hungry for a BLT sandwich and stopped at the Subway at the corner of Stoughton Rd. and E. Washington Ave. in quiet little Madison, WI, the heart of the Midwest.
The two smiling, dark-skinned, black haired females behind the counter looked innocent enough on the surface and as I walked up to the counter I did not expect anything different than the same experience that I’ve had at many other Subway restaurants across the State of Wisconsin – friendly service and quick, good food.
Yet when the order taker looked up at me and muttered something that I could not comprehend I knew I was in trouble. My four years of Spanish in high school more than a decade ago enabled me to recognize the language she spoke but did not afford me the ability to fully understand what she was saying. Had she asked me where the bathroom was or asked me for ‘two beers please’ we could have understood each other but alas the words that she spoke were far more complicated and my feeble mind could not comprehend what she was saying.
I chose to ignore what she said and simply order my food, hoping that she knew enough English (“working English” as they call it in Mexico) to take my order and expertly create my sub. It was not to be, though, on this dark day in the Heartland.
After I ordered my BLT on Honey Oat bread I watched as she pulled a packet of cold cuts from a tray on the counter. It looked like Salami and Pepperoni – I knew instantly that she was making an Italian BMT. “No” I said – “I ordered a BLT.” She looked up at me disgustedly, yanked the meat off the bread and began remaking the sandwich to the proper specifications.
In the middle of her sandwich artistry she looked up at me and uttered something in Spanish. “What?” I asked. She repeated her question yet I still could not understand. Was she speaking in Spanish? Was her English so poor that it could not be deciphered? Was her accent so thick that I could not pick out familiar words? I did not know. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked. She again repeated the same unintelligible question. “I don’t understand” I exclaimed; “I just want a BLT.”
Her coworker who was at the register looked over at the perplexed look on my face and the growing impatience on the order taker’s face. She walked over, said something in Spanish to her coworker, looked at me and then spoke. I’m not sure exactly what she said but I did make out the words your, sub, toast, and microwave. It took me a few seconds to string the words together into a coherent thought, but when I did I figured out that she was asking me if I wanted the bacon microwaved or the whole sub toasted.
I had one of those ‘a-ha’ moments when I finally figured out what she was asking…but that great moment only lasted until I said ‘just nuke the bacon please’. It was at that point that she looked up at me with a bewildered look. I gave up trying to speak to her and simply pointed to the microwave. She looked up and scowled at me as if to say ‘you moron, don’t you understand plain Spanish?”
As I was driving away I was thinking about the whole situation. It actually reminded me of my vacation in Mexico…I barely spoke the language but I did know just enough to get by. That, coupled with the basic knowledge of “working English” that many Mexicans have, made it possible to share a greeting, ask a simple question, and order a meal.
Then I began to think a little bit more…situations like this were funny when I was in Mexico. They were also funny during those summers that I worked in the Dells and routinely interacted with foreign tourists. But this situation was completely different.
When you’re visiting a foreign country or foreign tourists are visiting ours we can count on some awkward attempts at conversations…but it’s not something that I expected to encounter when I tried to order a sandwich at a Subway in good ole’ Madison, WI.
The whole thing may seem comical at first…but take a minute to think about it. What has happened to our country? Americans speaking American English at American businesses in American towns on American soil can no longer communicate with the workers because the workers only speak Spanish. Ouch!
Perhaps people in cities big enough to have foreign communities such as China town or the Spanish district have already encountered situations such as this and are used to them. Maybe those living in towns near the United States/Mexico border have become accustomed to having to speak Spanish at certain establishments. But here in the Midwest?
Ladies and Gentlemen, as I stated at the beginning of this story a new day has dawned in America – the day where we can no longer use English to communicate. Call me old fashioned, call me anti-immigration, call me whatever you like – but I still believe that here in America American English remains the primary language. If you can’t communicate using American English, go back to where you came from or start learning!
Or, at the very least, learn how to say ‘microwave or oven’ in English!
|