Speak English!!

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I love Chicago Style hot dogs. They’re loaded with peppers, pickles and tomatoes.

I was thinking about them when the plane from Kansas City landed at O’Hare and I was I  great shape for a good lunch. 

I got two dogs and headed for a bank of mostly open seats. The only people near was a young Mom and her probably around 4-year-old son, Mateo.

The woman held a sign to me:

“I don’t speak English. Can you help me with my flight information?”

I saw her boarding pass and the gate we were seated. It all matched up. They would be going to Lansing.

I used two of the five Spanish words I remembered after 2 years of Spanish in high school and another two years in college.

“Si! Bueno!”

The woman smiled at me. She actually said something back that I may have recognized had I listened, even a little, to Mrs. DeMeo.

I backed up to my seat across the aisle and my two hot dogs and the woman picked Mateo onto her lap. 

Her sign was visible to all.

A middle-aged white man made his way down the aisle between us.

He turned and read the sign. Then he looked at me.

“Pisses me off,” he growled. “Speak English. You’re in America.”

I just shook my head at him and he huffed on by. The woman looked at me quizzically and I made the universal sign for a lunatic, circling my finger beside my right temple. She laughed. Mateo waved.

“Hi buddy!”

But I was certainly agitated by the middle-aged dude. 

Suddenly an older white guy edged into the seat beside the woman and her child.

He unwrapped a hot dog.

Then fished out a small sleeve of fries.

In perfect Spanish he asked the woman of Mateo wanted the fries.

The woman and old man chatted in Spanish like old friends and it made me smile.

The middle-aged guy was a couple of rows away - he growled again:

“English!”

This time we all laughed.

The guy got up and walked away.

Mateo slammed those fries…

…wasn’t getting any of my dogs.

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