How To Not Sell a Locked Bike in Italian

by Catherine Down in , , ,

Carried my locked bicycle, since it could not roll, to the local bike shop in Colorno and attempted to sell it to the elderly man with one eye who works there. 

What I think I am saying: I didn’t steal the bicycle. The keys do not work because the lock has rusted over. I would like to sell my bicycle.  
What I am actually saying: I stole this my bicycle. The key do not function because of the red. I would like to sell.

Good shopkeeper with one eye: I do not understand you. Gestures to dirt on my knee as if seeking an explanation for my crazy talk. You have fallen and hurt yourself? 
What I think I am saying: No, I’m okay. Thank you. It’s okay. 
What I am actually saying: No, thank you. It goes well. 
What I think I am saying: I want to sell my bicycle. 
What I am actually saying: Sell bicycles.

Good shopkeeper with one eye’s response: I sell bicycles. 
What I think I am saying: I have a friend who I will call so he can help translate. I will return! I will return!
What I am actually saying: I have a boyfriend. I have telephone. I am a male who has returned! I am a male who has returned!

Good shopkeeper with one eye: When? Where do you live? 

What I think I am saying: Via Milano, near the gas station.                                                           What I am actually saying: Via Milano. Gas station. 
Walked home, Google Translated, and wrote everything on a Post-it like I should have the first time. Returned to the store. 
He says “Ahhh! Slice.” One eyed shopkeeper slices off the lock. 

lock slice.jpg

Still wanted to sell him the bike, but at that point could not possibly take any more of the man’s time or energy. 
What I think I am saying: Thank you very much. I apologize for my poor Italian. 
What I am actually saying: A thousand thanks. I am sorry for the Italian poor. 
Walked home cackling. Okay, let’s be honest, outright belly laughing at myself in the freezing rain, thus offering the good citizens of Colorno further proof that I am a crazy person. Sliced my finger open on the rusty gate. Decide to bake brownies for nice bicycle man.

I really am sorry for the Italian poor.