Crispy Pish

So I went to Brother's Burger yesterday for lunch. I felt like something different for a change and had never tried their chicken sandwich. So I saw the girl behind the register, went up to the counter, and ordered a Crispy Chicken sandwich...

Girl: Crispy Pish.

Me: No. Crispy Chicken...and onion rings. Do you have onion rings today? (Most other times I've ordered them, they are out.)

Girl: Yes sir. Onion rings. Drink sir?

Me: I'll have green tea.

Girl: OK sir. Is that all, sir?

Me: Yes.

Girl: That's one Crispy Pish, one....

Me: No. No Fish!

Girl: Wait a while, sir.

Here she calls into the kitchen and whispers something. A moment later the manager comes out, inserts his key into the register, and hits a few keys. Obviously, she had rung me up for a pish...er, fish sandwich and didn't know how to take it off the order.

I know, it's hard to distinguish from chicken and fish. Just ask Jessica Simpson. Of course, once they're both butchered and breaded, they do look quite similar, even to me.

Anyway, I paid and waited for my order. Five minutes later I had my Crispy Chicken, not Crispy Pish sandwich. It was huge! There were two chicken breasts on it. But it didn't have a distinct chicken (or pish...er, fish) taste. The garlic mayonnaise drowned it all out!

At 160 pesos for a sandwich alone, I expected more. While I got more in quantity, I wasn't sold on the quality. For less than that I can go to the only other place with a good chicken sandwich, Wendy's, and get their chicken breast sandwich with fries and drink...and perhaps a Frosty.

Oh well, it's a longer trip, but back to Wendy's...

Dimly Lit

Actual conversation just two hours ago between myself and the "girl behind the counter" at Brothers' Burger...

GBC: Good afternoon sir.

Me: I'll have the fish sandwich...and onion rings. You have onion rings today?

GBC: Yes sir. And your drink, sir?

Me: A Coke.

GBC: Coke in can?

Me: Yes.

GBC: OK sir, I'll repeat your order: That's one fish sandwich, french fries...

Me: No, onion rings.

GBC: ...onion rings and coke in can.

Me: Yes.

GBC: And your name, sir?

Me: Jay.

GBC: Jake?

Me: No, Jay.

GBC: James?

Me: (slowly) No, Jay. Like the tenth letter in the alphabet.

GBC: ...(puzzled look on her face)...Jame?

Me: (Now in my English as a Second Language teacher speed and tone of voice.) Jay. Just like in the alphabet. Just..one..letter. Letter J.

GBC writes J-a-n-e, not really questioning the obvious gender discrepancy. After all, there are many people here with names like Precious, Dingdong, and Luv. Not to mention the contracting of two names of opposing gender relation to create a whole new one, much like the media is referring to Bill and Hilary Clinton as "Billary" now.

Me: No. Just the tenth..letter..of..the..alphabet! A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I- J!

GBC: (Pointing to what she had written.) Yes.

Me: No. J! OK, or J - A - Y.

She did finally write that down.

Obviously she isn't the brightest light on her family's Christmas tree, but she isn't that much different from many Americans. Don't go thinking because I'm from the US that I'm not going to trash the severe deficiencies in reading, writing, and listening skills of Americans while I'm on such a topic!

For the purposes of this blog entry, I once had the fortune (*ahem*) to work with someone who was a bulb of similar wattage to the girl above.

He was on the telephone and having some trouble understanding what the man on the other end of the line was saying. Because he knew I was teaching English as a Second Language (yes, I really did) he wanted me to take the call. Apparently, because I had no trouble dealing with twenty-five students from eight nationalities in one class at a time, he expected me to be able to understand whatever accent or linguistic background was thrown at me.

So he asks me: Uh, Jay...uh...there's a guy on the line here...and he's having a tough time with English. I can't understand what he's trying to say and wonder if maybe you can help out here.

I agreed to take the call. When I picked up the phone the voice on the other end of the line was speaking in perfect English.

Not perfect American, perfect English!

For all I knew it was Prince Charles himself.

I felt my language, vocabulary, and pronunciation abilities drifting away in the comparison between us.

"Having a tough time with English?!", I yelled at my co-worker after finishing the call. "He is English!"

I think I might leave my gripes about spelling, grammar, and the use of punctuation for another post, unless I choose to just send that off to a publisher...'cause it's gonna be a long one, folks!

Meanwhile, until the next post: Take note of how brightly the bulbs around you shine. And remember, it takes 100 watts to read well.