Friday, October 14, 2011

10/14/2011 Yo Vello Caliente!

I was feeling fairly smug
with my Spanish
after working the flights into Merida from Houston
for six months.
I had learned all the basic greetings
with Senor Huranga on the TV
in Mrs. Jepson's classroom in 1967.
In addition to hola, and adios,
I could say some fruit juice names like
Manzana and naranga jugo.
I loved Merida. The white city.
All white and spotless.
We landed one night and had lots of chicken
left over in the ovens.
I wanted the cleaners to take it home so it
wouldn't get wasted and thrown away.
I yelled at them over and over again,
"Yo Vello Caliente!"
And pointed at the ovens.
I thought I was yelling,
"I have hot chicken for you!"
I was getting pretty annoyed that they
didn't want my hot chicken.
It wasn't like I burned it or anything.
As the last passenger got the last of his belongings
he turned to me and said,
"Why were you yelling that you had a hot flight at the cleaners?"

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