“Ah-pe-yee-do?” I read, dragging the word out in a way that would make any Spanish teacher cringe.
“Doesn’t that mean last name?” I asked the CVS cashier who had just handed me a reward card application. . .in Spanish, and pointed out the areas I needed to fill in.
I was embarrassed. Not only had my three years of high school Spanish failed me, but I was being reminded of its loss in a public. Can’t I get a frigging form in English?
I attended the premiere of The Help on a whim last Wednesday with a date who graciously swallowed his manly pride to join me for the ultimate chick flick. I instantly felt sorry for dragging him there as we joined the line wrapping around the movie theater, a large sea of women with only the occasional male dotted in between. But there was something even more unsettling about the crowd.
Perhaps, I’ve seen one Law & Order episode too many. But while waiting on the downtown corner for the red light to change, the black luxury car pulling up at the intersection sent chills up my spine. I glanced its way as the driver beckoned a young, black girl to the window, asking for directions. As she offered him her version of the best route to the freeway, he interrupted and said something that made her giggle and say thank you.
“Because I don’t know you,” she responded coyly when he offered her a ride. (more…)
