Oh Boy Alberto
Some of you have inquired about the oblique references I have made to Alberto. {okok, I know I mentioned him by a different name. But I realized during my ride home that it's quite possible for him to search for his name on the web and find this blog. So, clever me has decided to employ the ol' pseudonym approach. So it's Alberto now peeps. *note: You may use air quotes in exaggerated fashion when discussing this with me in person. I will humor you.}
Gather 'round, for here is the tale of Alberto.
Several months ago, I visited our Dallas office for work. It was late and all was quiet, save for the rapid staccato of my furious (read: desperately late) typing and the low hum of the clean up crew's vacuum. A slight, boyish looking janitor stepped into the conference room and started to clean up.
"Hola."
Startled, I looked up from my work.
"Um, hello."
"Se habla espanol?"
The nerd in me couldn't resist passing up this opportunity to prove I had retained some high school Spanish.
"Si. Un poquito."
"Ahhhh... bueno bueno!"
Sweeet! He was understanding what I was saying. My Spanish was being understood by a native speaker! Look, he even seemed to delight in my Spanish skills. I rock!
"Tienes un telefono?"
Hmm. He wants to know if I have a phone? HA! That's an easy question. I was so going to ace this conversation.
"Si, tengo un telefono!" This Chinese nerd liked the questions on this pop quiz. They were so easy! Come on, toss me another.
"Que es tu numero?"
Hmm. All of a sudden, this pop quiz took a turn in the wrong direction. Why the heck would my company's cleaning crew want my phone number? I wasn't even leaving a mess or tracking mud onto the carpet! Odd. So odd.
As I gave it to him, time seemed to pass in slow motion. If this were a movie, someone would yell out, in exagerrated form, Noooooooooooooooooo!
And, like in such movies, it would be too late.
He scribbled it down. (Strange...strange... does not compute.)
"Cuando salieras?" He wanted to know when I was leaving.
"Jueves". For some reason, Thursday suddenly couldn't come too soon.
"Ay!" (Ah! Anguish, a good sign perhaps!) "Si estuvieras aqui en viernes o sabado, podemos bailando!" As I pieced together the final pieces of this Spanish mystery, it dawned on me. Alberto wanted me to go dancing with him on Friday or Saturday.
To emphasize the potential fun of this event, he suddenly did a twirl in the middle of the conference room, hands pointing to the sky.
"Bailando! Ooooo Oooo! *" Twirl. Twirl. Point to the sky. Spin. {* the Ooo Ooo sound is that sound that groups of girls at clubs usually make. Typically to hip hop songs. It's strange, yes. Coming from a slight, boyish janitor in the middle of a conference room is even stranger.}
In psychology, they teach you about the moment when, in an emergency situation, one either takes flight or fights. Not one for confrontation, I powered down and exited stage left. Pronto.
I smiled apologetically and said I had to go. "Lo-siento-Necesito-ir-Hasta-luego-Alberto!" I called as I headed out of the room.
"Hasta manana!" Dayam me and my polite niceties!
Well, no worries. I thought smugly to myself. It's not like he's gonna call me!
Gather 'round, for here is the tale of Alberto.
Several months ago, I visited our Dallas office for work. It was late and all was quiet, save for the rapid staccato of my furious (read: desperately late) typing and the low hum of the clean up crew's vacuum. A slight, boyish looking janitor stepped into the conference room and started to clean up.
"Hola."
Startled, I looked up from my work.
"Um, hello."
"Se habla espanol?"
The nerd in me couldn't resist passing up this opportunity to prove I had retained some high school Spanish.
"Si. Un poquito."
"Ahhhh... bueno bueno!"
Sweeet! He was understanding what I was saying. My Spanish was being understood by a native speaker! Look, he even seemed to delight in my Spanish skills. I rock!
"Tienes un telefono?"
Hmm. He wants to know if I have a phone? HA! That's an easy question. I was so going to ace this conversation.
"Si, tengo un telefono!" This Chinese nerd liked the questions on this pop quiz. They were so easy! Come on, toss me another.
"Que es tu numero?"
Hmm. All of a sudden, this pop quiz took a turn in the wrong direction. Why the heck would my company's cleaning crew want my phone number? I wasn't even leaving a mess or tracking mud onto the carpet! Odd. So odd.
As I gave it to him, time seemed to pass in slow motion. If this were a movie, someone would yell out, in exagerrated form, Noooooooooooooooooo!
And, like in such movies, it would be too late.
He scribbled it down. (Strange...strange... does not compute.)
"Cuando salieras?" He wanted to know when I was leaving.
"Jueves". For some reason, Thursday suddenly couldn't come too soon.
"Ay!" (Ah! Anguish, a good sign perhaps!) "Si estuvieras aqui en viernes o sabado, podemos bailando!" As I pieced together the final pieces of this Spanish mystery, it dawned on me. Alberto wanted me to go dancing with him on Friday or Saturday.
To emphasize the potential fun of this event, he suddenly did a twirl in the middle of the conference room, hands pointing to the sky.
"Bailando! Ooooo Oooo! *" Twirl. Twirl. Point to the sky. Spin. {* the Ooo Ooo sound is that sound that groups of girls at clubs usually make. Typically to hip hop songs. It's strange, yes. Coming from a slight, boyish janitor in the middle of a conference room is even stranger.}
In psychology, they teach you about the moment when, in an emergency situation, one either takes flight or fights. Not one for confrontation, I powered down and exited stage left. Pronto.
I smiled apologetically and said I had to go. "Lo-siento-Necesito-ir-Hasta-luego-Alberto!" I called as I headed out of the room.
"Hasta manana!" Dayam me and my polite niceties!
Well, no worries. I thought smugly to myself. It's not like he's gonna call me!
posted by dodger | 10:07 PM
2 Comments:
Alvaro, Alberto. eh, what's the difference. all good gay spanish, dancing janitors from texas are the same.
O . M . G . - that was fureakin' hilarious ... Apparently, the Dodger's charisma is leagues beyond my own (for better or worse) ... now he gets picked up on in conference rooms in the still of the night by Latino janitors ?!? Di better keep good tabs on you to fend off all future propositions ... What's next? Amusement park mascot? The guy selling lunch in the Roach Coach? Bart Attendants? ... On a side note ... 'twirl'ing is never right, gay or straight ...
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