5 Years of Spanish Finally Came In Handy: A Humanitarian Sort Of Tale.
Our paint job was on-site at the restaurant today, and there was a small Spanish man who was to be “used at our will” for the day. The guy who owns the place is one of those rich white dudes who thinks that yelling commands will help people understand English (he’s not deaf you idiot.) So after seeing the owner boss this guy around I went over and worked next to him so I could figure out his name. Vanessa and I surprised him by prefacing the conversation in Spanish.
Over the next couple of hours we talked in broken languages. I asked his name, he said “Nemo”, I told him I know that’s what the owner called him but what was his given Spanish name and he responded: “The name my mother gave me is Nemorio, but when I started working in America my bosses called me Nemo because it’s easier to say. I really don’t like the name Nemo.” So for the rest of the day I called him Nemorio.
All day we worked in a filthy basement covered with paint/sweat and choking on dirt, and above us we could hear the rich people laughing and clinking champagne glasses. It was kind of poetic.
People are so interesting.





