Do We Understand Each Other?
Understanding one another is vital to every relationship, and oftentimes Overweight & Underorganized persons are simply misunderstood. While considering what steps I could take to help bridge this gap, my mind wandered back to my greatest lesson in communication, in hopes of bringing some wisdom gleaned from that experience to the table…
I managed to survive a brief but memorable career in the high-stress behind-the-scenes arena of the trucking industry known as dispatch. Basically, the job of a dispatcher is to appease the tempers of salesmen, customers, management and, of course, truck drivers. Days were spent in a vast room filled with partitionless cubicles, breathing the ever-present aroma of coffee mingled with diesel fumes that crept in from the adjacent shop.
When the trucker-turned-dispatcher seated next to me slammed down his receiver and muttered an expletive, I momentarily ignored the four flashing lights vying for my attention from my own phone and peered around my computer monitor.
“What’s wrong?” I dared to ask.
“I gotta make a delivery appointment in Laredo, Texas, and this guy don’t speak English!”
Ignoring his own lack of skill with the language, I thought, “Ah, Spanish.” All those years spent sweltering in Yuma, Arizona, would at last come in handy. And, while I had always taken an interpreter on my frequent trips to Mexico, I had mastered all the necessary phrases: “How much?”; “No, thank you”; and “Where’s the bathroom, please?”
“Let me see the customer information,” I offered. He tossed me a half-wadded sticky note with a phone number scrawled on it. I dialed the number and responded with an appropriate greeting (in Spanish) to the voice that answered. At that point, the conversation immediately advanced beyond the scope of my expertise, and, as a baseball manager in a tight situation points to the bullpen and pats his left shoulder with hopes of saving the game, I pulled out my emergency all-purpose phrase: “¿En Ingles, por favor?” Within moments the appointment was set. I gave the obligatory “Muchos gracias,” and handed the note back to my co-worker.
With a face like that of a child who just witnessed the antics of some grand illusionist, he asked, “How’d you do that?”
“Simple,” I said smugly. “I asked him to speak English.”
A few days later, my neighbor once again needed to set up a delivery in Laredo. “Hey, Linda. Teach me what you said to that guy the other day.”
A ten-minute Spanish lesson ensued, at the end of which I could make out, “¿En Ingles, por favor?” through his gruff southern drawl. We were ready. Filled with anticipation, my co-worker dialed the number while I, the proud teacher, listened carefully for the well-practiced words. Fidgeting in his chair, he tapped his fingers on the desk during the greeting. He paused momentarily, and I gave an encouraging smile. He nodded, then suddenly blurted out, “Hey dude, you speak English?”
…Perhaps I’ll leave well enough alone.
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