I have given presentations in front of new employees and a classroom of UNLV undergrads. I have tackled the most discerning guest and a Rufus meltdown without too much blood being shed. I have met royalty, spilt drinks on royalty and shared an elevator with Stephen King but nothing gives me more anxiety than getting our morning coffee at the local cafe.
The drive to said cafe marks the start of the day’s adventure as we head out to a nearby town to soak up local culture and misplace our automobile. As we wind our way up the hill so the anxiety levels in the car increase. For Camilla it is my “Italian driving” as she longs for the time when I was a young cautious motorist, and for me it is the impending overly awkward conversation as I desperately attempt to ask for just two espressos on ice.
I only know one phrase in Italian, “Gracie” but it is amazing how far I can stretch this. When someone asks how I am. I smile, nod and give a confident “Gracie”….totally does the trick. When I am asked to pay for parking at the beach but have no idea the cost, a simple “Gracie” followed by an exchange of a large euro note works just fine. In return for my “Gracie” I get what I need want and the other party has some good dinner conversation about how clueless these tourists are.
My tactic for getting my coffee is no different. I take a deep breath, get out of the car, walk casually yet confidently and with a big smile on my face utter my back up phrase “BONJOURNO!” I half expect everyone to stop what they are doing and in that Cheers way let out a warm welcoming “MARK!”, but alas I am met with faces full of dread as to what is about to happen.
Great arm gestures follow, partnered with elaborate finger movements as I try and explain that I want two espressos on ice and then to increase the level of difficulty I ask what no self respecting Italian would ever ask….”Can I take it to go?” A pause. “Cafe normale?” They say. “Gracie” I reply smiling furiously. It is clear they ask if I would like sugar. Is this a trap? Would an Italian ever have sugar in their espresso? Perhaps this is now a sport to see how wrong they can make me get this. Sweat starts to appear and my hands go clammy. The exact change that I am clutching is wet and I am imaging the awkward hand over of slimy heated coins later in the exchange. A decision needs to be made so I go back to smiling and “Gracie-ing” at which point anxiety levels hit the roof as it dawns on me that Camilla doesn’t take sugar. For the third time in as many long drawn out minutes I stick up one finger and say “Gracie.” A conversation ensues between the baristas as well as the local who is enjoying his coffee and this obscured charade, and so amongst the three of them they come to some kind of a conclusion. Moments later I hand over the sweaty coins, grab my wrapped up in a paper bag espressos to go and make a dash for the car. Camilla, reclining casually in our air conditioned ford S max, asks “how did it go?” “We have coffee I say. “Gracie” she replies.
The “See Do Get” models suggests that when you experience enough pain you change your belief systems or how you see things, and therefore what you do and the results you get. Today I reached my pain threshold and something had to change. It was time to bring out Mr Jobs. I asked Camilla for her order and today we could be as elaborate as we wanted. Today we were going to have a double espresso cappuccino. Armed with my translating device I walked straight to the bar, ceremoniously pulled out my iPhone 7 (no less) and read out my order with confidence, clarity and appalling pronunciation. All was going extremely well until I got to the pivotal point about two “shots.” This was a foreign concept for the barista. Again I am sure this is not something any Italian of decent upbringing would ask for but it was too late to worry about this. There was only one thing left to do…..smile, nod and say “Gracie.”
Despite this last minute hiccup it was clear that today was a resounding success. Smiles all round that lead to some kind of a joke that resulted in the international sign of acceptance…..a high five. We had coffee and I had my dignity. Tomorrow the sky’s the limit.
If your friends have ever suggested to you or if you have ever been honest enough with yourself that your driving could be best described as “assertive,” “determined,” “rushed,” “pre-occupied,” “not-risk-averse,” or you are perhaps “one-who-makes-dubious-choices,” then you need to come and drive in Italy. Scratches on cars are worn like a badge of honor as was clear when we picked up our rental to find several blemishes but not one marked on the rental form. I have learned that in fact these are not scratches, dings, dents, or blemishes but rather proof that you are a worthy competitor.
Curious to see the local talent I watched. To my disappointment he did not reverse in one fair swoop or do a hand break turn a la Italian Job but rather stuck the noes of his car in the vacant spot leaving his vehicule at a 45 degree angle with the rear of the car sticking out into the road. He got out of his to inspect his work when he something clearly dawned on him. Assuming he must have double guessed himself and was about to repark a la driver’s ed, I was somewhat taken aback when I saw him get back into his car, put on his hazard lights, walk around his car to check all four lights were working and walk into the cafe across the road. Where in any other country one’s hazard lights are a universal sign for distress, in Italy it means “just grabbing a coffee….l’ll be right back”
