Waiting for FaBill
We ate a delicious lunch at a traditional Lithuanian restaurant. They had potato pancakes just like my mom makes at home and, for the first time since I came to Eastern Europe, I cleaned my plate. But, like everywhere in Europe, the service was slow and Crac was getting antsy.
“I wish the bill would come.”
That is what she said. But what I heard was, “I wish Bill would come.”
So I said to her, “You think the waiter’s name is Bill?”
She looked at me crossly.
“No, THE bill.”
But what I heard was, “FABILL.”
So again, I said to her, “You think the waiter’s name is FaBill? What the hell kind of name is that?”
Then she got really mad.
“NO, I WANT THE BILL. THE CHECK. THE TICKET. THE INVOICE. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE WAITER’S NAME IS.”
Then she smacked me.