Stay dry longer
That’s it. Philipp’s going to get it now. If your pathetic existence leaves you too much time and you actually read some of Harvey’s crappy travel articles, you’ll remember from my past entry that Philipp’s the son of the nice Korean couple who owns the grocery store I like to go to. That’s a really long sentence, but I don’t have any real travel editors breathing down by neck, so it stays that way. You get what you pay for, Harvey.
So back to Philipp. He speaks better English than me, but pretends he doesn’t. So he rat-tat-tats in really fast Korean and then gives me the wrong kind of meat. He gives me liver.
So I’m at Borders looking for Pimsleur Level 2 in Korean. I already semi-mastered Pimsleur Level 1. (I got a New Jersey accent, so what do you want from me?) Now I am going to learn enough to go complain to Mr. and Mrs. Kim that their son is making fun of my Korean and giving me liver. Liver makes me puke.
So now you have the background story. I’m still at Borders, by the way. It might not seem like travel to you, but I’ve got arthritic knees and had to take the subway to get here. They’ve got one in Secaucus. But there the incompetent clerks leave the books all out of order. It’s a mess. You can’t find anything. It looks like all those post-coup African countries I traveled to. So I come to the city. It’s just as messy here, but the coffee is better.
I’m standing in the resources section looking for my Pimsleur Level 2. I like Pimsleur only because his method has you saying the words backwards, then forwards. That way I can say I know the language backwards and forwards. I don’t know it well, but I know it backwards and forwards.
I can’t find the Pimsleur Korean CDs. I ask a clerk if she can find them. She stands next to me and looks, then backs away a little. That always happens to me. Because of my Poise. Can I help it if I can’t change the pads every five minutes? What am I supposed to do? Carry a five-piece luggage set filled with Poise? I feel like screaming at this cute, little blond clerk with perfect blue eyes and all the makeup fixings. I feel like screaming at her and reminding her that in 50 years, she’ll be me. But I don’t. That got me kicked out of Borders once, so now I have to schlep an extra block to come to this one where they don’t know me.
The Kims never backed away from me. Of course, the way their store smells, they probably can’t tell about the Poise.
So anyway, the cute little clerk scurries off to check the computers. If they kept things neat, they wouldn’t need computers to find things. I know, because I used to keep my home neat. Well, semi-neat. Now I can’t find anything either. But that’s okay, because I don’t deal with paying customers, so I can be as messy as I want.
That leaves me to stare at the topsy-turvy shelves full of language CDs. When I used to shop for language CDs - only they were cassettes then, but that’s not the point - it was because I was going somewhere. Well, somewhere more than a grocery store. You know why I’m so mad at Harvey for twisting my arm to write these articles? Because it reminds me that I don’t travel anymore. Now I come here, and I’m like all these other losers who learn languages but never see the country. Or don’t see the country like I did. I didn’t go on any two-bit tours or take a wuss cruise. I got my hands dirty. Now all I get dirty is Poise.
Right next to the French CD is the one for Tagalog. I guess they revamped the alphabet since I retired, but that’s beside the point. I learned some Tagalog once and off I went to the Philippines. I was supposed to write a bunch of articles on beaches, only there was a typhoon while I was there. Loved every minute of it, except the part about people dying. But you know what? People over there deal better with death. It’s part of life. I saw plenty of funerals - never got to the beach, though. So my articles were scrapped and the newspaper used some crappy fillers from AP. They got their beaches, but I got a reminder that life doesn’t last forever, so you’d better learn Tagalog while you’ve got the chance.
I remember, standing there in Borders, that the Tagalog word for death is patáy.
I forgot the word for life.
The annoying cute clerk is suddenly standing there, trying to get my attention and poking my shoulder, without standing too close, of course. They’re all out of Pimsleur Level 2 for Korean. Would I like to order?
No, that’s what Amazon is for. I always say that because it makes them feel bad. I grab the Tagalog CD. Philipp thinks he’s so smart? He wants to talk to me in speedy González Korean? I’ll answer back in Tagalog. Put that Princeton chemistry Bunsen burner and smoke it.
Heh heh heh.
P.S. Something weird happened today. Phil charged me for liver. That’s not the weird part. The jerkowitz does that a lot. The weird part was when I unwrapped the meat at home, I saw he had given me Filet Mignon. I don’t understand it.
P.P.S. Which doesn’t mean I won’t speak to him in Tagalog once I know it backward and forward. You watch.
P.P.P.S. I’m still pissed at you, Harvey.
P.etc.S. The Tagalog word for life is búhay.
Tags: bladder control, Bordersm, humor writing, Korean, language learning, Philippines, Pimsleur, poise, Secaucus, Tagalog, travel, Travel writing