Say What?

say what?I’ve been in Spain for a few weeks now. Week one was spent ordering things in English because I presumed people had a better chance of understanding me. Week two was spent carrying a dictionary with me at all times, trying hard to learn how to order in Spanish once I realized that they really don’t speak much English here.

Week three started off great—I had my Spanish Starbucks order mastered and was confident enough to leave home without a dictionary. Mistake—or not so much a mistake as an omen that I would soon find myself in a lingual blunder of sorts. It started off innocently enough; I ordered a soda and, when it arrived, I asked for a straw: “por favor quiero una paja.” The waitress looked at me, bewildered, “perdone,” she started, “repita, por favor.”

Seeing as I had no idea what was going on, I repeated myself—louder—because I thought she simply couldn’t hear what I was saying or that she was having trouble understanding my accent. “…una paja por favor,” I started,”…para beber...?” I continued, miming the act of drinking through a straw. At that point the waitress was practically rolling on the floor laughing; and I, couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. One of the guys I was eating lunch with started laughing too, rendering e completely confused…why were they laughing…and come to think of it, why didn’t I get my straw?

The waitress came back with my straw…and a big grin on her face and asked me, in Spanish, if I understood what I had asked for. My fair Spanish made it so I could understand her question; unfortunately, that didn’t put me any closer to comprehending the situation at hand. Under her breath, she muttered “just tell her.”
I looked to the guy in our group who clearly knew what was going on. “WHAT??!?” I practically barked out of frustration. He then, as casually as possible, informed me that ‘paja’ was the word colloquially used to discuss both masturbation and blow-jobs. Despite my dark caramel complexion—I blushed, an intense red hue filling my cheeks in a way I didn’t previously think possible.

The waitress came back, the big smile still spread across her face, and asked me again if I understood. The crass American in me really felt like telling her to ‘suck it,’ but at that point I probably already had.

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