…because not all of us have our Peking ducks in a row
The anniversary of the post that started this whole blog…
My Mother often asks me why I don’t step up and help foreigners translate, as they stammer and gulp their way through the simplest things, like asking where the bathroom is, how to get to the bus station, what happened to their cell phone, which was on the table in front of them at the restaurant only moments ago, and so on.
Now, don’t get me wrong. My first instinct is to help people in need, and not just to stand by and watch them helplessly flail about, then capture the meaty bits on a blog for your reading pleasure. But I’ve decided that foreigners usually only require extensive interpretation, when things aren’t going so smoothly. In such cases, interpreting requires a great deal of finesse and may become tricky.
VIVE LA FRANCE!
The best place for tempers to boil is waiting in line for something that doesn’t…
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