Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Mistaken for a Native

While traveling in Ireland several years ago my mother in law was elated, moved to almost tears, when in Galway she was asked for directions. Standing in front of the Boots, looking confident and far less lost than I do even in Chicago, a wandering stranger stopped to ask her which way to a castle. Or a pub, I don't remember.

Of course she had absolutely no idea, and most likely had trouble even understanding the question given the ongoing issues her mid-western ear had with the thick accent (her son suffers the same exact fate: he once asked a woman, who was describing in detail her flat, how her flight was), but she was overwhelming giddy with the idea that someone had mistaken her for a true Galway'ian.

Yesterday at Target two men stopped and asked me for directions; despite their thick Chicago accents I understood immediately, "do you know where the hand soap is?". I checked my shirt, black cardigan, nothing red on my upper body at all. I stuttered, "well, it's um, well I think it's over near the toothpaste". They nodded and thanked me, "yep, you looked like you might know".

It's come to this, mistaken for a native at Target; one who buys excessive amounts of hand soap. 

Nailed it.

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