LEARNING SPANISH THE HARD WAY
BY ROBIN CHRISTENSEN
CHAPTER UNO
BY ROBIN CHRISTENSEN
CHAPTER UNO
My patience resigned. It was hot. I was sticky. Every moment sandwiched between malodorous men the size of redwood trees, fetched more query within me; Was this really the beginning of a dream vacation come true? Squeezed between the two chaps, my mind argued, lauding ideas of how to alleviate my current situation. Vacating my seat would mean standing for who knows how long. However, motivation to do so increased, once again, by one gent who kept trying to cozy-up on my shoulder.
Considering the circumstances, my usually kind soul refused him my gift of comfort, even for a minute or two. My lack of generosity swelled with every whistle and snort; with every smack of his lips. His head bobbed and weaved. I feared for the worse, but lucky for me, his subconscious mind fought gravity that pulled on his lower jaw. I was saved, yet again, from the impending doom that could have found its way down my sleeve. Every so often, repose visited, but only momentarily because the third Act was readying to play. Motivation to surrender my seat intensified still, as his symphony worsened with every dither of his head. His folly persis
ted "Yam-yam, uh-un-uh, yam-yam". Smack, bob, weave. It was just impossible to be friendly!
My left brain continued its interrogation of the right, as the unimaginable chanced right before my eyes. Only seconds after the ticket window opened, Joe, to our horror, was pushed and shoved by "49" people who had the audacity to cut in front of him. If not for the heat and my friend now leaning his reeking self against me, I could have stood in protest citing the unnatural custom of cutting in line. And if the torture of Joe's battle to defend his space wasn't enough salt festering in my already bleeding wound, the cashier who nonchalantly issued tickets to the mob of 'cutters' really frosted my cake!
Considering the circumstances, my usually kind soul refused him my gift of comfort, even for a minute or two. My lack of generosity swelled with every whistle and snort; with every smack of his lips. His head bobbed and weaved. I feared for the worse, but lucky for me, his subconscious mind fought gravity that pulled on his lower jaw. I was saved, yet again, from the impending doom that could have found its way down my sleeve. Every so often, repose visited, but only momentarily because the third Act was readying to play. Motivation to surrender my seat intensified still, as his symphony worsened with every dither of his head. His folly persis
ted "Yam-yam, uh-un-uh, yam-yam". Smack, bob, weave. It was just impossible to be friendly!My left brain continued its interrogation of the right, as the unimaginable chanced right before my eyes. Only seconds after the ticket window opened, Joe, to our horror, was pushed and shoved by "49" people who had the audacity to cut in front of him. If not for the heat and my friend now leaning his reeking self against me, I could have stood in protest citing the unnatural custom of cutting in line. And if the torture of Joe's battle to defend his space wasn't enough salt festering in my already bleeding wound, the cashier who nonchalantly issued tickets to the mob of 'cutters' really frosted my cake!
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