I’ve always wanted to ask a white person how their English happens to be so good, you know, to get what it feels like to be on the other side of that question.
“Your English is really good,” I slipped in while paying the lovely 20-something lady who had been serving us at a cheerful cafe, Holybelly. It was her first day at the cafe, and she had merrily admitted to not knowing an item on the menu, asking the owner in front of us without much hesitation.
“Thank you. We try,” she replied. I pressed on, “Did you learn it at school?” “No, just while traveling,” she said with some embarrassment. And just like that, I’d scratched a lifelong itch.
Really must recommend the youthful three-year old cafe by the way. The owner had a croissant tattoed on one arm,and grapes on the other. On the board it says:
Holybelly – the place where the customer is always loved, but not always right.