The Great Language Wall

credit: some asshole on the internet

The language barrier isn't to be scaled.  It's a sheer 1,000-meter, concrete, oil-slicked wall of impenetrability each language builds around itself to keep out the mongoloid hordes.  Yeah, I know bilinguals.  They have some kind of lifetime gate pass (earned by gods-know-what Herculean feats) or were born with wings or sticky spider hands to climb that slick wall with.  Congrats to you.  But me, I'm a Mongol.

My beard is about 7 inches too long, so much bushy facial scrub that I should stop bathing, put on a loose paisley shirt, and join the commune down in El Bolson.  I brought a trimmer, but it's, of course, the only thing that doesn't work in Argentina's outlets.  It sits mockingly in the suitcase under my bed.

The hair-cutter who lopped off all of Jess's hair might do it for $20 pesos---add that up over 4 months, plus the probability of a botched beard job (I hear our French roommate had a hair disaster there, too).  I don't know where to buy a trimmer here, or how much it costs.  Target has yet to set up its Buenos Aires franchise, though I'm sure Wal-Mart has an eye on it, part of their 10-Point PowerPoint on World Domination.  No falling prices yet, though.

So today I go to the electricity shop, gonna get myself a transformador (how's that for Spanish?) to plug my 120-V beard trimmer into the 220-V socket.  Me and my dumb face trying to explain that I need a transformer not an adapter, which doesn't change electric current.  Then the guy says, "What's the watts?"  In Spanish, of course, it's a wonder I knew what the fuck he was saying.  I hesitate, translating an answer, and he's saying, "Watts?  Watts?" like those sarcastic sweethearts who smartassly like to say, "Speak English?"  And I finally remember how to say "no sé," which means I don't know for my fellow Mongols.  He shrugs.  Nothing he can do--can't even tell me what the cost is, I guess, because I'm a lost cause, on the other side of the Wall.  He turns to the electrician in line behind me, gets to some business he can actually do.  Meanwhile, I'm still excessively bearded and on the street cursing Spanish in English.  All I want is to trim this thing down in a simple and uniform manner.  Don't give me that scissors bullshit--would you cut your beard with scissors?

The problem is this: I feel stupid.  Dumb as a fucking rock because I can't execute a simple exchange in this language, I can't even hear numbers and recognize them for numbers.  And that's the easy part.  Then the other words start their rapid-fire rolling out from the mouth, and I don't know para from perro.  I can't deal with feeling stupid--it's not in my deoxyribonucleics.  (How's that for another language?)  Maybe I'll take the subway up to Villa Crespo, a neighborhood I know though I don't speak its language, find a trimmer there somewhere.  The Wall's too slippery.  Requires creative solutions.