Tires and Speaking French

This morning when I went to get into the car to bring Adam to school, I noticed that my front tire had a huge bubble in it.

And then I burst into tears.

This prompted our apartment's maintenance worker to say something in Spanish to me, to which I stared at him stupidly before getting into the car.

Because I had no clue what he said.

See, I decided to be all different in high school, and take 3 years of French. While all of my friends were in Spanish together learning a language that they would actually use, I hung out in French class.

Thank goodness for THAT decision! Because Nevada and Arizona are simply crawling with people from France and Quebec.

Not.

So, I don't understand a lick of Spanish beyond "hola" and "tortilla", one of which probably isn't considered to be a part of Spanish vocabulary.

I take comfort in the fact, however, that I can introduce myself AND offer a plate of French fries to anyone in French.

Je m'apelle Allison. Voulez-vous les pommes frites?

Which will be super-helpful when I fulfill my lifelong dream of working at a McDonald's in Paris.

Not.

Anyway, the time that was supposed to be spent at the library turned into waiting at Discount Tire, with Grace eating goldfish crackers and me lamenting my lack of Spanish skills. Fortunately, the tire was still under warranty and was replaced for free. AND they gave me a free water.


Awesome.

Er, impressionnant.