The other day we grocery shopping too late in the evening and I didn’t want to wait for my wife, Tracy, to cook dinner so I suggested we stop and buy something to take home.
Somehow we ended up at a Taco Bell, (or “Taco hell” as Tracy calls it), even though we haven’t eaten there for years – and with good reason – we don’t really like the food.
I pulled up to the drive-thru and, what sounded like a teenage boy, asked to take my order. I gave my order but he asked me to repeat it twice. It became apparent that he couldn’t understand my accent. Suddenly a female voice came over the speaker and asked for my order. I repeated it, and this woman seemed to understand my accent better so I was able to pull up to the window.
My wife and oldest son had been giggling almost the whole time while I tried to order, and I got kind of irritated.
“Don’t laugh at me, please,” I said, while waiting for them to hand the food to us.
“But why did you say ‘Nachos Bell Grande’ like a white person?” she asked, laughing even harder.
I didn’t realize I had, but I guess I did so the Taco Bell employees would understand me.
“I don’t like when you laugh at me,” I said, trying not to lose my temper after I paid and we were on our way home.
“I’m not laughing at you,” she said, “Don’t you realize how funny this is? You’re a native Spanish speaker from Latin America ordering fake Latin American food from gringos, and you had to mispronounce Spanish so they would understand you!”
I still don’t really understand why it was so funny. Maybe it’s American humor? … And I got sick from the Chicken Baja Gorditas. At least now I remember why I don’t like Taco Bell.