If you know me or my father, you've probably heard the candy cane tale by now (at least once). My dad continues to laugh in amazement whenever we bring up the topic. Now, I have a story that I believe can top the candy cane chronicle. Brace yourself... and start picturing spinning tea cups at Disney World.
On Thursday night, after work, I went out with my co-workers for the first time. I see them twice a week at my academy job and we always exchange pleasantries. Once we left the school, these people went from two-dimensional to 3D. It was really nice to get to know them outside of a work setting.
At one point in the evening, a man walked into the bar with his dog on a leash. I looked down and saw a pup with the same stature as Stewie but not as chubby. The next time I looked over, the dog wasn't down on the ground, but rather sitting at the bar beside his owner. I can't say I had ever seen a dog on a barstool before and I was quite amused. I went over to pet the dog and of course, the owner wanted to chat. When I walked over he was drinking a full glass of whiskey on ice and completing a sudoku puzzle. He told me that the dog went everywhere with him and when they went to a bar the man would get a drink and the dog would eat the tapa (in this case, a pork kebab). I often view older Spanish people as cartoon characters because they are so animated and quirky. This man and his dog would make the perfect comic strip.
We talked for a while about the Spanish language and culture. The man insisted that new words that have been adopted from the English language should just be translated to Spanish. It's too hard for him to understand these newfangled English words. Then he remarked that Americans are all learning Spanish and Spanish people are all learning English. "Back in my day, it was just French." I asked him if he had been to France and we talked about Paris which led him to a rant about other big cities. "New York is the belly button of the world." I laughed and he asked me, "Do you know Park Blablabla?" I say "Blablabla" because for several minutes I couldn't understand what he was trying to say. "You're telling me you're an American and you don't know Park Di-knee?" The accent in Granada can be incredibly difficult to understand. Sounds and sometimes entire syllables are totally lost. What the man was trying to say was Disney but the pronunciation was totally butchered.
Eventually the dog had gotten cozy on his barstool and scratching his chest no longer made his foot thump. The bar was closing and the man was rambling. A French coworker came over to try and pull me away. "You're French?" said the old man. And without asking where exactly she was from he said "I've been to your town before!" He continued to speak about the entire country of France as if it were a small village. After smiling and nodding for quite a while, I thanked him for his company and he shook my hand so hard I could have sworn he broke a bone.
Anyway, that's not the story. The real story happened in between interactions with this old man and his dog. When I returned to the table after petting the dog the first time, I was introduced to the friends of a coworker who had joined us for drinks. The man that had joined the group looked at me and said "So you're from Chicago?" His accent didn't sound particularly Midwestern so I didn't peg him as a Chicago boy. I said "Yeah. Why? Are you?" It wouldn't have been that strange to meet a person from Chicago in a foreign country but the conversation progressed. He said that he had lived in Chicago for a couple of years.
"Oh yeah, well did you live in the city or the suburbs?"
"Nah, I lived out in a suburb."
"Where?"
"I lived in Glenview."
"Nooooo! I'm from Glenview!"
"So you went to Glenbrook South, right?"
We could have left it at this detail and I still would have been tickled by the coincidence. Fine, we lived in the same town. That's great. But of course, I continued to ask questions.
"Yes! What part of town did you live in?"
"I lived off of Pfingsten." He paused. "The street's called Maple Leaf."
At this point, I started rattling off our old address. All the way to the zipcode. I hugged him again and again. He clearly wasn't as amazed as I was.
I did not use my indoor voice from this point on. "I lived in the first cul de sac to the right!"
He replied, "I lived in the first cul de sac to the left."
For a good minute, I entertained the idea that he was a mind reader and just messing with me. I couldn't believe how the details of our childhoods aligned.
"So yeah, I went to Willowbrook for a year, then Maple, and then two years at GBS." And then he began naming teachers.
I chimed in, "Mr. Panitch?!"
He said, "Yeah, I loved Mr. Panitch! The only thing I remember from his class was his giant cup from White Hen and..." While he paused I thought to myself 'Everything is relative.' "...that everything is relative."
I hugged him again. After that we didn't talk about it again; however, I couldn't get over it. When he was a freshman at GBS, I was a Titan Tot in preschool... in the same building. For four years we lived on the same street and now here we are, half way across the world living in the same city.
My hiatus from the blog had to come to an end so I could share this story. Obviously, lots of other things have happened in the past few weeks. I went and visited two different friends: one in a city called Almería and another friend that I made at Earth Lodge in the city of Alicante. Also, I've had two friends come and visit me in this time. This past Wednesday I went skiing with my favorite group of students from the high school and had a fantastic time. This time next week my parents will be here and I couldn't be more excited!
On Thursday night, after work, I went out with my co-workers for the first time. I see them twice a week at my academy job and we always exchange pleasantries. Once we left the school, these people went from two-dimensional to 3D. It was really nice to get to know them outside of a work setting.
At one point in the evening, a man walked into the bar with his dog on a leash. I looked down and saw a pup with the same stature as Stewie but not as chubby. The next time I looked over, the dog wasn't down on the ground, but rather sitting at the bar beside his owner. I can't say I had ever seen a dog on a barstool before and I was quite amused. I went over to pet the dog and of course, the owner wanted to chat. When I walked over he was drinking a full glass of whiskey on ice and completing a sudoku puzzle. He told me that the dog went everywhere with him and when they went to a bar the man would get a drink and the dog would eat the tapa (in this case, a pork kebab). I often view older Spanish people as cartoon characters because they are so animated and quirky. This man and his dog would make the perfect comic strip.
We talked for a while about the Spanish language and culture. The man insisted that new words that have been adopted from the English language should just be translated to Spanish. It's too hard for him to understand these newfangled English words. Then he remarked that Americans are all learning Spanish and Spanish people are all learning English. "Back in my day, it was just French." I asked him if he had been to France and we talked about Paris which led him to a rant about other big cities. "New York is the belly button of the world." I laughed and he asked me, "Do you know Park Blablabla?" I say "Blablabla" because for several minutes I couldn't understand what he was trying to say. "You're telling me you're an American and you don't know Park Di-knee?" The accent in Granada can be incredibly difficult to understand. Sounds and sometimes entire syllables are totally lost. What the man was trying to say was Disney but the pronunciation was totally butchered.
Eventually the dog had gotten cozy on his barstool and scratching his chest no longer made his foot thump. The bar was closing and the man was rambling. A French coworker came over to try and pull me away. "You're French?" said the old man. And without asking where exactly she was from he said "I've been to your town before!" He continued to speak about the entire country of France as if it were a small village. After smiling and nodding for quite a while, I thanked him for his company and he shook my hand so hard I could have sworn he broke a bone.
Anyway, that's not the story. The real story happened in between interactions with this old man and his dog. When I returned to the table after petting the dog the first time, I was introduced to the friends of a coworker who had joined us for drinks. The man that had joined the group looked at me and said "So you're from Chicago?" His accent didn't sound particularly Midwestern so I didn't peg him as a Chicago boy. I said "Yeah. Why? Are you?" It wouldn't have been that strange to meet a person from Chicago in a foreign country but the conversation progressed. He said that he had lived in Chicago for a couple of years.
"Oh yeah, well did you live in the city or the suburbs?"
"Nah, I lived out in a suburb."
"Where?"
"I lived in Glenview."
"Nooooo! I'm from Glenview!"
"So you went to Glenbrook South, right?"
We could have left it at this detail and I still would have been tickled by the coincidence. Fine, we lived in the same town. That's great. But of course, I continued to ask questions.
"Yes! What part of town did you live in?"
"I lived off of Pfingsten." He paused. "The street's called Maple Leaf."
At this point, I started rattling off our old address. All the way to the zipcode. I hugged him again and again. He clearly wasn't as amazed as I was.
I did not use my indoor voice from this point on. "I lived in the first cul de sac to the right!"
He replied, "I lived in the first cul de sac to the left."
For a good minute, I entertained the idea that he was a mind reader and just messing with me. I couldn't believe how the details of our childhoods aligned.
"So yeah, I went to Willowbrook for a year, then Maple, and then two years at GBS." And then he began naming teachers.
I chimed in, "Mr. Panitch?!"
He said, "Yeah, I loved Mr. Panitch! The only thing I remember from his class was his giant cup from White Hen and..." While he paused I thought to myself 'Everything is relative.' "...that everything is relative."
I hugged him again. After that we didn't talk about it again; however, I couldn't get over it. When he was a freshman at GBS, I was a Titan Tot in preschool... in the same building. For four years we lived on the same street and now here we are, half way across the world living in the same city.
My hiatus from the blog had to come to an end so I could share this story. Obviously, lots of other things have happened in the past few weeks. I went and visited two different friends: one in a city called Almería and another friend that I made at Earth Lodge in the city of Alicante. Also, I've had two friends come and visit me in this time. This past Wednesday I went skiing with my favorite group of students from the high school and had a fantastic time. This time next week my parents will be here and I couldn't be more excited!
RSS Feed