Happy Anniversary, Ladies:
While searching for my favorite e-mail from the past year I came across this little gem and couldn’t resist. It’s not necessarily my favorite but is too relevant to pass up.
I’m working on yet again, another Spanish ad campaign [new blog readers: I work on the marketing team for a pharmaceutical company]. Instead of starting this project, I’m currently searching e-bay for used copies of Rosetta Stone.
Needless to say, I removed “fluent in Spanish” from my resume.
I apologize for being estranged this week, but am so swamped at work. I’ve really gotten myself in to a pinch here ever since I embellished my resume. I’m not a fluent Spanish speaker, and should not have implied that I was. I speak broken Spanish at best. The only thing I have going for me in this situation is that nobody around me speaks it, and therefore my translations are never questioned.
Just barely I had a coworker walk a letter up to my desk from an angry Spanish speaking consumer and asked me to translate. Again, I speak broken Spanish, not pissed off Pharmaceutical Spanish. To boot, I don’t decode handwriting very well, either. I recognized two words out of the whole foreign chicken scratched letter.
“She’s having a drug interaction. And she’s mad… About that” (Lies).
My coworker gave me a look like she was impressed with my worldly communication skills, then asked if I could write the angry woman an apology letter. Fantastic.
After closer inspection of the letter, I found out that the woman was upset because her irritable bowel medication is making her bowels more irritated than before. What am I supposed to say to that, Señora Martínez, I’m sorry that our medication is making you sh*t. It sounds like you have enough sh*t in your life already, and the last thing you need is more sh*t.
You’d think studying in Spain would give me the language skills needed to respond to such a letter. But no, I live in Utah, the whitest place on earth and haven’t spoken Spanish outside of work projects since I’ve been home (for almost 4 years).
With the incredible wealth of my Spanish vernacular, I’ve come up with this: You shit, we’re sorry.
The story of my life.