kinda cool

Today I went to Cafe Rio for lunch. Nothing unusual. I stepped up to the counter and was close enough to hear the man in front of me give his order. He and the server spoke in seamless Spanish as the man chose between types of frijoles, whether to have queso, and asked for extra cilantro (one of the things I love about Cafe Rio is you can get extra of something without them batting an eye). I listened in, and while I missed some words I understood most of the transaction. I don't know what it was but I liked listening to such a normal thing, that I almost belonged to, being transacted in another language.

Then, as the man's order concluded and the server started to turn to me I had a moment where I wondered how he would address me and what his accent would sound like. I assumed he'd switch to English and he did...effortlessly, and with hardly a recognizable accent. Then I ordered, making all the same decisions (I asked for extra pico de gallo), but with everything taking place in English.

I'm having a hard time pinpointing why I left Cafe Rio with a little bubble of joyful satisfaction in my heart. I think it had something to do with how we (I included) seem to separate the places where different languages belong and are used. I mean, sure, I was in a Spanish style restaurant where Hispanics are heavily employed, but it's still a place that I (who am so obviously Caucasian that the server knew to use English before even looking at me) often frequent and am very comfortable with. I liked how the two languages seemed to coexist so tranquilly in the same space, under the same purpose. I liked that it was all so easy, comfortable, and almost friendly feeling. It made me wish even more that I actually spoke Spanish, but mostly it made me wish we could all feel that way, around all languages and nationalities, all the time.