Transmitido en Español

Fernando has just returned from his back room and is about to begin eating his dinner. A vehicle pulls in. This irks Fernando, for he very much does not like being watched when he eats and he feels rather peckish at the moment, and with his luck the people who pulled in will dick around the store for half an hour and leave Fernando's meal sublimely tepid and in need of a re-microwaving.

The chimes jingle and a small army of six people enter. Their ages range from 20-something to eight or so. Five are male, with one female around the age of 10 or so. Strangers one and all, wearing camouflage overcoats and hats, Fernando is not made enthused by their presence.

The oldest among them speaks. “Hola. ¿Cómo estás?” One of the other boys, teenaged by the looks of him, chortles.

“Bien, pero no sé por qué usó la palabra 'estás.' Yo no conozco ustedes, y ustedes me no conocen. ¡Pero bienvenido a la País de Video!”

Utter silence. The young man who addressed Fernando in the Latinate devil tongue looks at our hero in dumbfounded awe. Chortles McChortle's mouth has dropped open.

Fernando looks around at these strange people. Life had taken a less wearisome turn, it seems, for there was trollish fuckery to be doled out. “¿Que pasó?” he asks.

“Holy shit, I didn't expect you to actually answer, man,” says the twenty-something guy.

“¿Por qué no?” Fernando asks, using what he recalls from Spanish 202: Intermediate Spanish II to the utmost. The last time he had utilized Spanish to any meaningful degree was when he visited Italy during his study abroad, back in the olden days before Fernando had real adult responsibilities. There is a great and amusing anecdote involving the biggest bitch Fernando has ever encountered wrapped up in his travels to and from Naples and Pompeii, one which he shall perhaps share with the world at some juncture. As for now, all that needs to be said is that Fernando's amateur Spanish served as an incredibly useful supplement to his infantile Italian among the older people with whom he dealt. For comparison, the zenith of his Italic mastery is represented by the time he bravely changed around a few words in the timeless query “Where is the bathroom?” when he asked a young woman in Pompeii, “Dov'é l'scava?”

The nice lady answered him in English, bless her heart forever.

Leaving behind that overlong anecdote, the twenty-something then asks Fernando, “Um, what do we need to set up an account here?”

Fernando responds to this in English, mostly because he doesn't know the Spanish words off the top of his head. “I need you to fill one of these out,” he says, pulling out a membership application. “And I'll need to see your driver's license.”

The guy does not put up any argument, perhaps because he remains intimidated by Fernando's facility with tongues. By this time, the rest of his crew had spread out into the store, browsing to their hearts' content. They select a couple of older-ish movies (Straw Dogs and Just Go With It) and bring the tags up to the counter. Twenty-Something, whose name, Fernando learned, was Benin, has filled out the application to Fernando's satisfaction and listened attentively as the Keeper shared with him the rules which governed the lease of the Dominion's inventory.

The rental slip was completed, money exchanged hands, and the six strangers left the store slightly less stranger-some than when they had entered.

“¡Hasta luego!” Fernando shouts to them as they depart.

Despite the fact that these six seemed to be itinerant slayers of deer, they returned Fernando's movies on time. Small victories.