Oh Sure, Don't Tell the New Guy

Today is not a holiday. Today is an entirely average Monday (sorry, Monday. I still like hanging out with you). Nobody told me that today was any different than any other Monday, yet when I arrived at work I noticed that the building was almost entirely empty. I chalked that up to heavy Sunday night partying on the part of my coworkers. When 11 rolled around and no one had showed up, I started to get suspicious. This was either a very elaborate and well-orchestrated practical joke on new guy Andrew, or I didn't get the memo that Tuesday happens to be a holiday (Pope Day, maybe they make Pope cakes!) and most people take Monday off as well. The language barrier strikes again! I stayed until lunch time and worked on some translation, but I am definitely not making the same mistake tomorrow. I am taking a very deserved Pope Day away from the office.

You might be asking yourself why I stayed at work instead of just going back to the Casona. Is anyone asking themselves that question? No? Well, bear with me while I ask the question no one particularly wants the answer to. The reason I stayed until lunch was that I wanted to eat at the restaurant in the lady's house. I believe I mentioned that in a previous entry, but if not, a lady has a house. She serves lunch in her house (and of course hides the kids), and it essentially becomes a restaurant from 11-4. Once the clock strikes four it's a house again. I really enjoyed my first meal there, and it's absurdly cheap, so I decided this would be my Pope Day Eve lunch spot. Eating in a person's house (with about 8 other customers, mind you) is very entertaining. First of all, it's very homey. The atmosphere, the food, the mom that treats you like her kids...all of these factors make you feel at home. Which you are. Just not yours. Also, because this is a living and breathing home, some domestic occurrences can't be prevented during restaurant hours. For instance, I chortled when I heard her neighbor ring the doorbell or when I saw the family dog escape and run through the dining areas. It certainly was not a difficult decision to choose to come back. I ordered the chicken soup (rather than the salad. Appetizer salads here don't blow me away, and it was cold today), followed with pork milanesa with garbanzo bean stew and rice, pear juice, and a comped free salad (which DID blow me away because it was free). Everything was homey and comforting, and I was touched that she didn't skimp on the chicken liver or chicken feet in my soup. Granted, I am a fan of neither liver nor feet. Feet are OK but the knuckles require more mandible dexterity than I possess. Either way, I felt like a special guest over to see the kids do a piano recital. She told me that she's putting together a special lomo saltado on Wednesday. I said "See you there!" She didn't understand. I then realized I shouldn't have been speaking English, particularly in a conversation where everything else I had said was in Spanish. Upon translation, she gave me the fist pound (recognizing my glaring American-ness) and we sealed the deal. On my way out, she was nice enough to offer me a ride to Ricky's house to play some N64. I politely declined, but again, it was really the thought that counted.