Immigration 6: Lasting Effects

The first phrase every foreigner learns when they come to America is "I don’t speak English." It is imperative. Whenever someone starts talking to you, all you have to do is utter those words and boom, as if by magic, the situation changes. The locals either smile understandingly and walk away or they try other ways of communicating using simple words and gestures.

There are also those who think that speaking loudly helps. In the time since my English has improved I’ve often wanted to find those folks and tell them that yelling doesn’t work and that they just need to slow down and enunciate. Of course I’d do it very, very loudly. I’m a little evil that way.

Well, anyway, the phrase gets drilled into your head because it’s used almost daily. After a while, however, the vocabulary gets built and there’s no need for it anymore. So it dies away or just lies dormant in a forgotten cobwebbed corner of your brain. Unless of course you’re me.

"I don’t speak English" I squeaked at the woman by the cash register, grabbed my purchase and bolted out of the store. My heart racing and ears ringing, I stopped right outside the door and leaned on the cool side of the building trying to get a grip on my panic. So I took stock of the situation. I was 24, I was on my honeymoon and I was in Ulm, Germany. Oh, and I spoke English very well; German, not so much.

What the hell was that?

I had to laugh! It was as if the last 14 years hadn’t happened at all. In that instant of panic the catch-all phrase appeared on my lips without thinking at all. Too bad, thinking would have been a good thing!

Shortly after my escape, my husband walked out, grinning at my sheepish red face and held up a paper bag.

"She only asked if you wanted a bag for that" he said pointing at the just purchased journal in my hands.