I was a bundle of nerves. Italy was the first country I’d ever visited where I knew I wouldn’t understand a single word. Okay, I knew grazie and ciao, but how far are those going to get you when you’re in search of help at the pharmacy or asking for assistance deciphering a train schedule?

I probably don’t have to tell you that I worried for nothing. The Italians, they are warm and friendly, and everyone I encountered, almost without exception, was more than happy to bridge the language gap. Almost without exception. Gotta love the grocery store checkout lady who refused to let me buy a box of granola bars with a 20 Euro note.

I got that she was saying she didn’t have change, but I’d seen a drawer full of it when she helped the customer before me. Unable to say that, I stood there stupidly as she let out her frustration on me - the girl without exact change. She kept repeating the same phrase, over and over and I kept apologizing, feeling my face get redder and redder. I was really starting to hate Milan.

The more I apologized, the more she ranted. And still, I had no idea what she wanted. Until a couple weeks ago, when we learned numbers in Italian class. In the middle of the lesson, a light went on in my brain. There it was! The phrase o’ humiliation.

Thirty-seven. I stood in line for five minutes being yelled at for not having thirty-seven cents. Somehow, clarity doesn’t make me feel any better about it.

Monday, February 25, 2008 | general