M'am, why are you still talking to me?

It’s Thursday evening and my friend / colleague K is returning from a 3-day work trip to Athens. As she waits in the baggage claim area at Malpensa airport, she notices that the girl standing next to her, speaking Italian to a group of guys, has a strong American accent. She is about to strike up conversation when her bag arrives, and so, being in a bit of a rush to jump in a taxi and get home, she picks up her bag and heads for the exit. Following a quick trip to the bathroom, she is out in the daylight and heading for the taxi rank. K has lived in Milan for 5 years now, and regularly passes through Malpensa so she automatically knows which way to head and where to wait in order to beat the rush. Dodging through the smokers and rowdy groups of families, she notices the American girl from her flight looking around as if lost and confused, and so K (being the friendly soul that she is) approaches the girl. The exchange goes like this:

K: “Hi, do you need a taxi? Can I help you?”

Silence.

K: “Hey, sorry, were you looking for a cab, because if so you need to go to the front of the cab line”

Silence.

K (confused):”Ummm… can you hear me?”

Girl (in an aggressive tone) : “Why are you talking to me?”

K: “Sorry, I thought you might need some help getting a taxi”

Girl (even more aggressive): “I don’t need your help. I LIVE HERE! And you probably don’t even speak the language!”

K: “Jeez, I was only trying to be friendly and actually I do speak the language - I’ve lived here for five years”

Girl: “I don’t need your help – I have a voucher for 80 euros which will get me anywhere in Milan”

K: “Errr, I think you’ll find that 80 euros is the flat rate whether you have a voucher or not”

Girl (in a really rude tone): “M’am, why are you still talking to me?”

K (now very angry and offended at the ‘m’am’ comment): “Why are you so mean?!”

Girl: “I still don’t know why you’re talking to me”

K: “Wow. I was only trying to help you! Just one more thing before I go… I feel really sorry for you! Have a nice day.”

And with that, K marches to the front of the taxi line, gets in the first waiting cab and leaves the mean girl, still looking dazed and confused on the pavement.
Since the UK / US expat community in Milan is relatively small, I would like to launch an appeal. If anyone knows the super bitch who travelled from Athens to Malpensa on the evening of Thursday 9th April, or if you ARE the super bitch, let it be known that this is NOT the way to treat people – especially strangers who are just trying to be friendly and helpful to a fellow citizen. Grrrrrrrrrr.

The lunatics of Lulù

One thing that I have always felt is missing in Milan is a simple, relaxed place to drink tea and eat cake in a cosy as opposed to trendy environment. A little bit of chintz once in a while never hurt anyone... So anyway, out and about with a friend yesterday we're at a bit of a loose end when she remembers a really cute little tearoom called La cucina di Lulù, where they do a mean hot chocolate and have more choice of cake than your grandma's house on a Sunday. Despite the fact that it means a bit of a trek across the city, we decide it's worth it so we jump in the car and 25 minutes - and much road rage - later there we are. What do we find? "Closed". Noooooooo I can actually see all of the cakes lined up on the counter and my stomach is already rumbling. Upon closer inspection, K notices a sign on the door stating that they open at 6. "What's the time?". "5:30". "Damn it". What to do? It's cold and the nearest shop sells sheets and towels. So we decide to go for a wander, and in our cake-staved state end up drooling over a stupidly-expensive designer shoe shop, picking out our fantasy favourites for imagined occasions... At 6 o'clock on the dot, we are outside the cafè, expecting some kind old lady to come along with the keys, open up and put the kettle on the stove just for us. 18:05, 18:10... We start observing the comings and goings of the neighboring gym, the groups of girls tottering in in their stilettos and heavy make-up (??!!), the "hip" young guys in their designer gym gear, and a middle-aged couple having a blazing row about his 'appreciation' of afore-mentioned females. 18:15, 18:20... Getting really annoyed by now... 18:25...At this point, we decide we've had enough and just as we're starting to move away, I notice a light on towards the back and so I knock on the door. A chef appears, turns the key, pulls the door open slightly, and lets go of it so it slams in my face. Errr, ok... Not sure what to do, I put my head around the door and say "Excuse me, are you open?" "Six thirty" is the response I get as Mr Rude Chef Man turns his back and starts to walk back to the kitchen. "Oh, it's just that on the door it says that you open at 6" I protest. "Does it? Well it's six thirty" he snaps as he disappears, slamming the kitchen door behind him and leaving us in the dark. I'm sorry? What? Say what?? Needless to say, our desire for tea and cake made a sharp exit, as did we. Being used to a lack of customer care, and the general rudeness that seems to be a part of everyday life here is one thing, but this was beyond the limit. The plan is to go back this afternoon and 'have a word' with whoever is responsible for the place. I doubt it will make any difference, but at least we'll feel better - more so if the tea and cake really is as good as they say it is.

Miss Communication

At brunch last weekend, my girlfriends and I were at the till waiting to pay when I became aware of a certain amount of huffing and puffing from the girl behind us. It soon became clear that she was bitching about us as, in the chaos and confusion of the place, we appeared to have jumped the queue – completely innocently I might add. She was moaning to her friend (in Italian) that “these foreigners have no manners….” “They think that they can do what they like just because they’re American…” (I’m not American FYI). “Just because I’m Italian doesn’t mean I don’t understand what they’re saying…” (We hadn’t said a word about them). Needless to say, I waited for the perfect moment, and much to the amusement of my friends, turned around and said, very abruptly, in Italian “Did we jump the queue by any chance??”. “No no, it’s fine”, spits back the girl. It blatantly wasn’t fine, but I certainly enjoyed the moment.
This reminds me of when I was a student in Siena, and one day whilst walking through the town, a group of teenage boys directly behind me started making comments amongst themselves, in Italian about the “bella biondina straniera” ( I was ten kilos lighter and seven years younger, you understand). Again I gave them a chance to say all that they needed to (some of it was really quite rude!), before spinning around and yelling at them in my then broken Italian: “Don’t think I don’t understand what you’re saying!!”. I remember them looking a bit shocked, but not much else as I turned on my heels and sped off, slightly embarrassed at the outburst, particularly since I was still finding my feet linguistically. Should something like that happen now, I would probably hang around, but then again that’s what ten kilos and seven years of experience does for you....