The little old lady comes into the doctor’s office where I’m temping, and we’re immediately confronted with a problem. She speaks very little english, and I speak even less spanish.
“Lo ciento por mi español,” I say, deciding to have a go at on-the-fly translation of my go-to french phrase, but apparently my mangled attempt is good enough.
“Is okay, papi, you a good man,” she says, smiling and patting my hand.
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