Lost in Translation

Here’s a sampling of how many of my conversations with my roommates go:

Me: “Do we have any dish soap?”

Them: “What’s dish soap?”

Me: “Umm, soap you wash dishes with.  Don’t you call it that?”

Them: “No. It’s called washing up liquid.”

Me: “Washing up liquid? That takes so long to say, though.”

 

Or

 

Me: “Is it okay for me to say _______.”

Them: “No. That’s a swear word here.”

Me: “Good to know.”

 

Or

 

Me: “I hate it when it rains. It gets my pants wet.”

Them: “How does it get your pants wet?  Are you sticking your bum out?”

Me: with a confused look. “No. (Then remembering that ‘pants’ are underwear) I mean. I hate it when it rains because it gets my trousers wet.”

Them: “Right.  That makes more sense.”

 

Or

 

Them: “We need to (some idiomatic phrase).”

Me: blank stare

Them: “Don’t you say that in America?”

Me: “Nope.”

 

Or

 

Me: “Should I be offended by ______.”

Them: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay.”

 

Or

 

Them: “It’s just the other side of the zebra crossing.”

Me: “The what?”

Them: “Zebra crossing.  Where you cross the street.”

Me: “Ahh. The crosswalk.  Gotcha.”

 

Or

 

Me: “I also bought English muffins.  Wait. You guys probably just call them muffins, huh?”

Them: “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”