Callate La Boca

Have I mentioned how much I like delivering certified letters?

Yeh, baby.  Good times.

So...drive up to this house. Certified in hand.  I recognize the return address. It's a collection agency. We know he's going to be happy to see this. Cough.

While I don't know him well we've been cordial in the past. He sees me pull up and comes out to meet me.

"Hola, como estas?" I say.

He pauses mid stride. A look of surprise, then outrage on his face. He thrusts himself through the window and yells, "SPEAK ENGLISH. You're in America you know!"

Really?

Is he serious?

(Actually, I'm glad he said something - I get confused easily and it puts my mind at ease to know that I'm still in the U.S.)

The middle aged, blue collar, biker type continued to sputter and make noise.

I listen with a raised eyebrow.

When he finally stopped I tell him that, on the paternal side of my family, the first person to step on the shores of America, arrived about 15 years after the Mayflower docked. My maternal grandmother, on the other hand, immigrated from Germany in the late 1920's but she immediately set about learning English and becoming an American citizen. So I'm good with the English thing and legal immigration. Still, all my kids speak Spanish and are or will be college graduates so that they will be highly employable and still able to communicate with the majority of the denizens of our great country...and make more money than the average field worker.

He grunts and then stares at the letter. "Who's it from?"

"Dunno, " I lie.  We both know what this is all about. He takes it and contemplates what he wants to do with it.

"Might as well." I say. "They'll just keep hounding you 'till you do something about it."

He shrugs, signs and whips out his cell phone. "You know what I do to all those Mex's who chatter at me?"

???

Boy, is my eyebrow getting a workout...

"I get their cell phone number and then text them this..."

He holds the phone up.The sun shines on the surface. I can't see. I reach my hand out for the phone. He jerks it away. What? I'm going to slam the van into reverse and take his precious phone?

"Give. It. To. Me." I wrest it away from him and tilt it so I can see:

Oh - absolutely! Let's ask someone for their cell phone number, walk away and send this.

Great idea.

He continues to rant. He does not differentiate between legal & illegal immigrants. Apparently he's an equal opportunity hater.

What to do with someone like this?

I just shake my head, laugh, hand him his phone back, take my pen & receipt for the certified, (for the unpaid bills he has because all the Mexicans are taking the jobs that he's too lazy to apply for) wave and leave.

Because unlike him...

I have better things to do with my time.

Ciao.
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