BUZZURRO

This morning I had to go to the Post Office. Having lived in Italy for several years I have come to dread the Post Office.

I remember waiting many times for 1 hour plus to pay my bills (bills can be paid in the Post Office there) and waiting many minutes for a stamp or two only to be told that they ran out hours before (not that any postal employee would even think to make up a sign stating this fact for future customers)( and who ever heard of a Post Office without stamps anyway?) .

I remembered other Post Offices from my life’s past in the US that were usually efficient with short wait times so a visit to a Post Office and I was always comparing my Italian postal visits unfavorably. I missed the post offices in the US.
In 2006 when Buzzurro and I moved to New Jersey in the US we went to the Post Office. Say whatever bad thing you want about New Jersey, and many people do, but we never had to wait more than 10 minutes for any service there. “See” I told Buzzurro ” The Post Office doesn’t always have to be a place in your nightmares.” … Then we moved to New Mexico.

The Post Offices in New Mexico made me eat my words. It is like Italy all over again (maybe not quite as bad, but close).
There are many people waiting, having taken a number and three employees working while 4 other windows remain closed. The employees might work fast, but there are never ever enough of them. Buzzurro and I joke all the time that when one needs to go to the Post Office, one should bring a book with them, and a thick one at that, but I am backtracking.

This morning I went to the Post Office. I was a little perturbed because I did not bring a book or other reading material with me. I opened the door to the Post Office, expecting a long wait like usual but to my amazement found that every single window was occupied by a working employee. It was incredible. I was in shock. I picked my number from the number machine as usual. I picked number 54 and the counter said the Post Office was serving customer number 51. A lady walked up next to me and said that she has never seen so many employees working at one time in the Post Office. “Me either” I replied and then a postal employee called my number. I went to the counter and was served. I was out of there in less than 2 minutes.
What a pleasant surprise. Hope it lasts.

A few months ago I went to a Mexican restaurant with a co-worker. “Why don’t you try the chicken mole (pronounced MOH lay) burrito. It’s good.” So, that’s what I ordered.
It wasn’t just good, it was very good. I really really truly enjoyed it. I was hooked ! Addicted !

A week later I took Buzzurro to the same restaurant. He ordered a mole burrito and became hooked as well.
For those of you who don’t know what mole is, well, mole is a Mexican sauce. There are many different kinds of mole, but in the United States when one says mole it usually refers to one type of this sauce, mole poblano. The actual word “mole” is taken from the Aztec word “molli” which means stew or sauce, but mole or mole poblano is not an Aztec dish. The Aztecs only drank cocoa. They never added it to food. It was created by the Spanish settlers in Mexico who came with the conquistadores to Mexico. They came up with a really, really good creation too !

Mole, or mole poblano blends the sweetness of chocolate or cocoa with the spicyness of chili peppers, namely poblano chili peppers. It is usally brown in color, but can be a little reddish depending on the amount of chilis used. It can be spicy or not so spicy depending on how it’s prepared.

Mole can be used in many ways. For burritos, for enchiladas, like in the picture above shows or simply poured over turkey or chicken. I usually just buy the jars of mole paste to which I add a few ingredients which are listed on the jars and add it to shredded chicken and tortillas to make burritos..

To read more about mole, and find some recipes for mole, visit this link.

This post is not written by Buzzurro, the native Italian speaker, but by J.Doe, the native English speaker.

I realized several years ago after saying to Buzzurro “Non sono fatti dei soldi!” (I’m not made of money) and seeing the ensuing confusion on his face while he responded with a loud “Huh??” that some things just cannot be translated literally. In the ensuing years in Italy I paid a lot of attention to this fact and didn’t do it again.
3 years later we moved to the US. I thought that I’d never have this problem again. How wrong I was.

A few days ago on the phone I told someone that I would “navigate the internet” She responded “huh?” and then I realized that in English the verb used referring to looking on the internet is “surf”, so I corrected myself and I said ‘I’ll surf the internet to find the website.”In Italian one would say “navigare which usually translatess as ‘to navigate, as in a boat.” but it’s also used in reference to the internet.

Yesterday in the supermarket after the cashier had a rude customer who happened to be in front of me in line and she commented on his behavior I said “Yeah, he’s not refined.” She responded with a big “huh?” and I thought again to myself “Uh oh, what did I say?” Then I figured it out. In Italian if someone is rude you can say “e’ raffinato” (not refined) referring to a person, being well-mannered. The word raffinato is literally translated into the word “refined” but in English the word “refined” usually refers to processed foods, such as refined sugar or refined flour, and not people.

I could write on and on about the gaffes I made in the English language. Who would ever think that I as a native English speaker make errors in English? As Buzzurro says, “Maybe I should teach you English.”

Today Buzzurro and I started our search for a used car.
We want a nice car….nothing fancy…but nothing that is falling apart either.
We met all sorts of sleazy characters on our way and there will be more to come in the future since we haven’t found our nice car yet.

So far we’ve met:
1. The aggressive pushy salesman who wants you to sign on the dotted line for a new car within the instant or else the price increases 50 percent.
2. The beggar who calls 24/7 and asks you to buy a “special ” car. if you are dumb enough to give him your cellphone number (like I was).
3. People who don’t speak English. Now I have nothing against people who don’t speak English. In fact as a former English teacher I earmed a few pennies off of them, but I really don’t think that non-English speakers should become car salesmen in the United States where most people do speak English.

We’ve had some unusual experiences.
At the first dealer we went to the salesmen who rode in the backseat when we test drove the car was overweight.
That’s not a big deal in itself as I’ve seen larger, more overweight people getting into the backseat of smaller cars.
He was having problems breathing.
He was gasping and wheezing the whole time we went for our test drive.
All I could think of was “My CPR card is expired. What if he dies? ”
To make a long story short, he didn’t, but it was scary.
Too bad they don’t sell used cars with portable defbrillators in them.
Anyway, I was so busy thinking about the salesman’s health, or lack of it, I didn’t even concentrate on the car.
Lucky for me (and him) Buzzurro didn’t like the car and cut our test drive short.

At the next dealer we went to from afar we saw a beautiful white car.
We got closer.
There were scratches on the rear bumper, but other than that from the outside it looked perfect.
A salesman there gave us the keys for a test drive and then told us that with a photocopy of our driver license we could take the car for a test drive by ourselves.
We gave him the documents, he gave us the car keys and we hopped inside.
Inside we noticed the cracked upholstery of the car.
We also noticed that the air conditioner did not work.
We started the car and noticed that a whole bunch of other things on the car didn’t work either.
Miraculously we survived our test drive and returned to he lot in one piece, but we both swore that we would never buy the car, not even if the dealer sold it for one shiny penny.
After we brought the car back we told the salesman that the car has a lot of mechanical problems, the air conditioning not working being one of them.
“Oh yeah” he said “Only the fan works. HA HA HA. ”
Personally I fail to see the humor in trying to sell someone a car when you know something doesn’t work without telling them, but perhaps it is me.
Then he told us “I have a great car for you to see” and showed us a car with many holes and chipped paint on the front hood that really didn’t look any better then the other ugly broken down cars on his lot.
“Was this car in a shoot out?” I asked him while pointing to some of the damage.
“No” he replied.
“Those marks prove that this is a good car. All these holes and chips were caused by flying rocks on the highway. It’s a very good sign. It means the car was used in highway driving and since that’s better for the car then you can tell that the engine is sound.”
I didn’t answer but I have never, ever even of thought of chipped paint on the hood of a car as a good sign.
This guy was just talking a load of crap and it kept getting deeper so Buzzurro and I just left.

We went to another dealer and saw a fair car.
It was plain and nothing to write home about, but it looked acceptable for our needs.
On closer inspection I saw that the windshield was cracked from the passenger side all the way to the driver side.
I said to Buzzurro “Look at the windshield. It’s cracked and will need to be replaced.”
“Oh No.” said the salesman who overheard me.
He went on, “All the drivers in this town drive with a cracked windshield” whereupon Buzzurro said “I’ve been living here for 1 year and never had one, or even saw anyone else with one” and then the salesman went on to describe how on his wife’s car the windshield is cracked and has been like that for over one year.
What he and his wife do with a cracked windshield is between them of course, but he is wrong.
Even in this town cracked windshields ARE fixed and we didn’t want to buy a car with one..

After that Buzzurro and I decided to call it a day.
I went home only to receive a call from another dealer about his ‘Special Prices”, but when I asked what they were he just changed the subject.
Repeatedly.
He just wouldn’t answer my simple question of “What are the prices?”
AHHH.
What’s a girl to do in circumstances like these?
Yes, I made an appointment.
I’m going there tomorrow.
We just want a nice used car.