The simple serenity of background noises

After two years of working as a professional waiting room individual due to my job as a medical interpreter, I began to appreciate the delicate sounds of group background noise. I got insanely accustomed to the sounds of quiet whispers between family members, the gentle rustle of magazines and newspapers, the quiet shuffle of feet when a name was called...

With time and boredom, these sounds took on an an extreme relaxing effect for me. Suddenly any hush-hush waiting room became my nursery, and more than fifteen minutes in an over-cushioned, arm-rested chair would send my head bobbing.

It happens that now that a good nap of mine thrives on good group background noise. Listening to the distant murmur of my roommates talking down the hall in the kitchen, the neighbors clanking dishes in their kitchen across the patio, or the light clicking of my dad's fingers tapping my laptop on the couch in front of me send me into siesta bliss...

The funny things that come out of jobs, eh?

Hola, me llamo Modi.

It never fails.

"Hola, soy Molly." Hello, I'm Molly. Seems simple enough, yeah? It is only the statement I have said approximately 5.7 million times in the years I have spent living and traveling throughout this fabulous yet apparently hard of hearing country.

"Modi?"

"Molly."

"Como? Moni?"

"MoLLy!"

"Modi?"

If I do not give a flying fuck about the person who is insisting on calling me Modi/Moni/Morocco, at this point I say, "Si, Modi," brush it off my shoulder like any good rap star, and continue on with my evening (while, of course, simultaneously racking my brain to figure out why the Spanish cannot distinguish the difference between my pronunciation of L and D). If the person is even suspected of being pertinent to my future social life or work opportunities, this goes on for a while... until I remember my new found, mythical weapon that does not amuse me at all.

"Sabes... Molly Malone...?"

"Ahhh, claroooo!! Moli!"

Aaand there went my dignity out the window. Being compared to a fish-selling Irish legend chick accused of prostituting on the side. Would you like a happy ending with your trout? Sweet dude! The most unfortunate side effect? This is officially my nickname for some of Pelayo's family members. 

An... older POV

Last week I met a Spanish woman in her 80's, and I think she took the cake for the wisest woman I've met in quite a while.

Upon discovering I am American, she suddenly said, "I am going to tell you some things I noticed about your culture and your country a few years back." Now, as many of us travelers/expats might do, I smiled outwardly but inwardly cringed in anticipation of some stereotypical, ignorant, and close minded statement about my country that I am so accustomed to hearing.

I am happy to say this woman surprised the shit outta me. "Back in the 60's, I went to visit some friends of some friends in a military base in Morocco." (*Note that Spain in the 60's was living under a Catholic dictatorship, which left them in the dust in terms of modernity and technology.)

She continued, "The kitchen was full of plug ins. Full of them. They had one plug in for every electronic thing in the kitchen. And of course, they had an electric knife, a toaster, everything!" In Spain, kitchens tend to have one outlet which is used for all kitchen appliances. You finish, unplug one, and plug in another. I had never thought about the plug-in/appliance ratio until I talked with her.

"Then, in every bedroom on the base, every nightstand had a TV! Every bedroom!" At this time in Spain, you were pretty lucky to have a TV at all. "A little excessive, your culture."

Then came some simple difference in time schedules and eating habits. "Oof, the Americans eat such a heavy breakfast, a light lunch, and a big dinner. I just couldn't figure out how to get full. I can't drink more than a coffee for breakfast, I have to have a huge lunch and a light dinner. I've never been hungrier than I was on that base!" She giggled at the differences between eating habits, and found it quite silly that she had never been hungrier than the time she spent around a bunch of Americans.

And of course, the classic, "And the Americans, they were so tall!"

I have to say, we could all learn a lesson from this lady. It took an 80 year old woman to state her observations respectfully. She told me all of this without saying once that one place was better than the other. It sure would be nice if we could all be as respectful and observant as this lady.

Her closing thought, which I found just plain interesting, went like this:

"I am at an age in my life when I know what I like. I'm at an age when I can look back at my life and see the things I actually liked because I liked them, and the things I thought I liked when I only liked them because of society's expectations. Now I know what I like: going for strolls, making my own clothes, and reading. And that's what I do now."