I like working at Radio Shack, honestly. It’s good money, especially when you luck out and get to work in the busiest store in North Jersey. But there is one problem with working at good ol’ Store 01-2768 in Rockaway, New Jersey, and it’s a big one: I don’t speak Spanish.
The Jersey folk already know why this is a problem, but to indulge everyone else, Rockaway is right smackin’ next to Dover, which is an almost entirely Spanish speaking city. Naturally, as a result, about half of the people that come into my store speak very little English. When you’re paid commission and don’t speak the language of half of your customers, it places you at a major disadvantage.
Fortunately, I made a major breakthrough yesterday: I managed to sell a cell phone to a Spanish-speaking customer who barely spoke any English. It was a greuling task, to say the least, an hour comprised mainly of two people trying desperately to utter horribly broken versions of each other’s respective tongues. Had we been able to communicate properly, I’m sure she could have been in and out in about fifteen minutes, but the fact remains that I managed to converse, albeit poorly, in Spanish. Huzzah for me.
I’ve been saying for a while that I’ve learned more Spanish in the last month than I did in four years of high school. Well, right then I learned more Spanish in an hour than I had in the last month. I believe it could be said with reasonable certainty that I am, ipso facto, the man.