You give 'em an inch...

...and they take a mile.

I have been going on tours with my classmates and professors for the past couple of days, and while on breaks, I have learned a little about how things are done here. Yesterday, I learned how to legitimately order in Italian, and this afternoon, I got to test out my newfound knowledge at the little cafe near my apartment. I walked up to the counter, intent on getting a sandwich and water for lunch, and I was pleased as punch that I would be able to order in (faltering and probably terribly mispronounced) Italian. The ladies who operate the cafe are usually pretty good about making themselves understood and taking care of customers, no matter what kind of language skills they have, so I thought it would be a nice, safe place to test myself (and possibly offend someone) while trying to break the language barrier.

I walked up to the counter.

Lady: "Buon giorno. Prego." Essentially, Hello. How can I help you?

Me: "Buon giorno. Vorrei uno panino - tonne e pompdoro." Hi. I would like a sandwich - tuna (which I did not know was tuna at the time - it looked more like pork of some sort) and tomato.

Lady (pointing to the sandwich in question): "Questo? Tonne?" This one? Tuna?

Me (very pleased with the proceedings so far): "Si. Grazie." Yes. Thank you.

Then, with what I have decided to characterize as a maniacal grin (though in reality, it was nothing more than an animated smile), the lady at the counter proceeded to rattle off a bunch of rapid-fire Italian at me, which threw me completely off, so I couldn't even ask her to "Parla lentamente, per favore." Speak slowly, please. My only response to the sudden onslaught was a blank look and shake of the head, to which the lady responded with a disappointed sigh and a rather dejected recital of her usual series of questions in English. I opted to sit outside, and when I passed the cash register, the gal there chattered at me, too, but when I shook my head at her, she too switched back to English.

My first attempt at ordering in Italian was a disheartening (though, in hindsight, rather amusing) failure. However, with this experience under my belt, I will be better armed for my next assault on the language barrier.

.

By the way, due to a misunderstanding of the way my name is printed on all the Rome Center paperwork (it has something to do with the columns on the page, I think), the people here think that my first name is "Katie Lynn," which, with the Italian accent of some of my professors, comes out something like "Kay-ti-ah-lee-na," all one word.