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Servizo cliente alla romana – Roman customer service

11 Jul

Click here for English

Oggi ho due storie da raccontarvi, e siccome tutte e due sono successe in italiano, mi va di iniziare in italiano oggi e poi tradurre in inglese, che poi, visto la sfortunata mancanza del colore di dialetto e spirito romano nella cultura anglo-sassone, sicuramente saranno meno divertenti tradotte. Ma, pazienza, perche’ voi leggete in italiano quindi…

Allora, volete per primo i piccioni o le suore?

Iniziamo con stamattina e procediamo indietro per ieri pomeriggio.

Quindi, prima le suore.

Io ogni mattina per arrivare a lavoro salgo sul 30 Express (express tanto per dire), quel autobus enorme tipo fisarmonica che va dall’EUR fino a Prati. L’altro giorno ho scoperto per caso che gli ispettori adorano salire a bordo intorno alle 8 quando ci sono io, e poi veramente mi sono dimenticata di timbrare il mio biglietto (causa del libro straordinariamente divertente che sto leggendo ora) e quindi ho beccato la stupida multa ATAC per la prima volta in 7 anni.

Va bene, ho pensato, e’ giustizia divina, perche’ se dovessi contare tutte le volte che ho fregato una corsa, probabilmente arrivavamo facilmente alla cifra della multa.

Ma vi giuro che ho dimenticato in buona fede. Comunque.

Stamattina e’ salito con me un branco di suore. Ognuno attrezzata con tante di rosarie. (Curiosita’: ma come fanno loro a sopportare questo caldo vestite cosi’ di nero? Mah!). Allora, appena siamo saliti tutti quanti, c’erano gia’ tre ispettori posizionati davanti, in mezzo, e in fondo. Strategicamente. Le suore iniziano ad agitarsi, tirando fuori biglietti e passandogli giu’ alle altre suore per essere timbrati. Sembrava tutto a posto, insomma.

L’ispettore chiede alla prima suora il biglietto.

Risponde la suora: “Scusi ma lei vende i biglietti?”

A questo punto, l’ispettore risponde con un tono che sicuramente anche un giaguaro avrebbe se un cervo dovesse chiedergli qualche cosa prima di incontrare il padre eterno. “No,” le dice il giaguaro. “Noi non vendiamo i biglietti.”

E cosi’ via, finche’ non abbiamo scoperto che due delle tre sorelle erano salite non munite di biglietto, ovvero munite di biglietti gia’ scaduti (vecchio trucco da principiante).

Allora, voi pensate che il Vaticano, o forse meglio la vera grazia di Dio, puo’ salvare le nostre sorelle dalle zampe dell’ATAC?

Se avete risposto di no, allora avete ragione!

Avrei giurato di aver sentito la suora dire “stronzo” ma puo’ essere che mi sbaglio.

Comunuque, l’ispettore ha fatto, “Non e’ per cattiveria. Ma io devo andare in ferie.” Ah ah! Ma non e’ finito li’!

Le suore continuavano a lamentarsi, a dire inutilmente che si aspettavano una macchinetta a bordo per comprarsi il biglietto (eh si’ eh) e l’ispettore giustamente le ha fatto, “E allora se poi non funzionava, che faceva? Non pagava il biglietto.” Giusto, giusto. Tie’! Ma la gran finale e’ stata questa che ci ha fatto tutti noi intorno scoppiare dalle risate:

“Ma scusi sorella, ma lei ci ha visti quando e’ salita. Perche’ non e’ scesa subito?”

Fantastico. L’ispettore che insegna alla sorella di fregare l’ispettore. Lezioni di muoversi sui mezzi, insegnati da chi sa meglio di tutti come fregare il sistema.

Ineffetti, sorella, spiegaci un po’?

Lascia un commento

***

Ora, i piccioni. I piccioni! Storia raccontata a me direttamente da chi l’ha assistito in persona: Alessandro (padre dei miei tre figli) insieme con un amico nostro e mio figlio Vincenzo.

Sono tre giorni che Vincenzo ha la febbre alta, percio’ ieri (domenica) abbiamo deciso di portarlo a pronto soccorso e quindi Ale l’ha portato a Bambin Gesu’. Dopo la visita (possibilmente ha un’otite ma boh) sono andati a prendersi un gelato a un bar li’ vicino, molto carino e elegante e con una bellissima terrazza panoramica. Il nome non ve lo dico per motivi di riservatezza, ma fa rima con “passo.”

Si siedono accanto a una tavola di signore sui 50 anni. C’e’ un cameriere sui 50 anni pure, che sta pulendo per terra con una scopa, tutto tranquillo. Poi a un certo punto, a proposito di niente, si sente:

BOOM! CRAK! TAC!!

“TE HO PIZZICATO!!! LIMORTACCI TUA!!!!!!!”

Si sono girati e hanno visto un povero piccione spasmotico, steso per terra in fin di vita. Il cameriere sodisfatto del suo lavoro. Nel sentire lo sguardo di tutti adosso, ha proclamato, “Cosi’ non ve da’ piu’ fastidio.”

Le signore scioccate. “Ma signore lei come si permette?! Una scena del genere! Adesso chiamiamo il servizio per la protezione degli animali!”

“Ma quale servizio per la protezione degli animali!!? Limortacci loro a questi piccioni!” e cosi’ via.

Il cameriere e’ tornato dentro e le signore sono rimaste li’ a sparlare di questo gesto poco carino, e di come insomma, non riflette bene sulla qualita’ del servizio di questo bar, e com’e’possibileunacosadelgenereinsomma…

Giusto in quel momento, si atterra un piccione al centro della loro tavola. Proprio li’, piazzato come il proprietario del locale, a guardare queste signore cosi’ indignate.

Poi si sentiva in lontanza una voce, sodisfatta e decisa:

“AHO’!!! E MO’ SO’ CAZZI VOSTRI!!! EH HE HE HE HE”

Chi sara’ mai stato? Il cameriere e’ rimasto li’ dentro con un bel sorriso.

Qualcuno conosce il numero del servizio per la protezione degli animali??

Va bene, l’ora del racconto romano e’ finito per oggi. Potete andare a farvi la nanna e ci vediamo quando vi svegliate.

Today I have two stories to tell you, and since both of them happened in Italian, I felt like writing them first in Italian and then translated into English. Unfortunately in the translation we will lose some of the color and spirit of the Roman dialect, but that’s ok. I’ll do my best to convey all the hilarity and vulgarity I possibly can within the confines of my anglo-saxon native tongue.

Ok…so shall we first tell about the pigeons or the nuns?

Let’s start with this morning and go backwards to yesterday afternoon.

So first, the nuns.

(Once upon a time…) Every morning to go to work I take a bus called the 30 Express (and truly, “express” is just a figure of speech here). It’s a huge accordion-like bus that goes basically from the south end of the city in EUR northwards to Prati, passing through the center on the way.

The other day I discovered by chance that the ticket inspectors love to ride this bus right around the time I do, about 8 in the morning. That day I honest to God just forgot to validate my ticket (this is the fault of a fabulous book I’m reading–it’s been translated in English–go!) and so I got a stupid dumb-head fine for the first time in 7 years.

Fine, fine, I thought. It’s just divine justice for all the times over the years I’ve ridden the bus for free. (read: Roman “honor system”) I’m sure I owe at least what my fine is worth.

I honestly did just forget to validate the ticket though. I promise. Anyways.

This morning I got on at my stop along with a gaggle of nuns. Each of them was draped in multiple rosaries. (Just a random thought: how in the world do they manage to go around this city in July with all that black cloth? The world may never know!). Anyways, as soon as we all got on, we saw not one, but three inspectors, strategically positioned in the front, middle, and rear of the bus. The nuns started moving around, pulling out tickets and passing them down to the other nuns to validate them. It seemed like everything was normal, right?

The inspector asks the first nun for her ticket. It must have been an old ticket, because without even showing him, she says, “Do you sell tickets?”

“No,” says the inspector, like a predator about to rope in his prey. “We don’t sell tickets.”

And that’s kind of how the conversation went, until in the end, he had roped in two of the three “sisters” who weren’t equipped with tickets when they got on board. Oops.

So, do you think the Vatican, or perhaps even the grace of God, can save a nun from the wrath of ATAC?

If you said no, then you would be correct!

And when this fact became apparent, I swear to God (no pun intended) that I heard the nun mumble “shithead” under her breath. But I could be wrong.

In any case, the inspector most helpfully added, by way of consolation, “I’m not doing it to be mean. I just need to go on vacation like everyone else.” Ha. Nice. But that’s not all, folks!

The nuns continued to complain randomly, uselessly tossing out the fact that they intended to buy a ticket from a machine on board (right, right, we believe you) and the inspector says to her, “Ok, but then if the machine didn’t work? Then what? You wouldn’t have had a ticket.” Touche’. But the cherry on top was this little question that made me and this man next to me turn to each other and laugh out loud:

“Ok, sister, I’m sorry, but truly, when you got on, you saw that we were on board. Why didn’t you just get off right there?”

Love it. Love it! The bus inspector teaching the nun how to cheat the system. This is the way we roll here in Rome. In fact, now that I think about it, please do enlighten us, sister, why didn’t you get off the bus?

**

Ok, now on to the pigeons. The pigeons! This story was told to me personally by Alessandro who witnessed it with a friend and my son Vincenzo.

Little V has had a high fever for three days, so yesterday it was Sunday and we decided we should take him in to see a doctor. Ale took him to the pediatric hospital here in Rome, and after the exam (apparently he has a slight ear infection but he seems fine except for the fever), they went to get an ice cream at an elegant and beautiful bar near the hospital, with a glorious view of Rome.

They sat down outside on the terrace at a table next to a group of 50-something women. There was a waiter nearby, he too in his 50s, sweeping the floor in peace. Then, out of nowhere and all of a sudden, they hear:

BOOM! CRACK! WHACK!

And then:

“Take that, you muthaf&;##er! I really got you this time!!!”

Everyone turned to look, and their eyes took in the scene of a pigeon in death spasms on the ground, a very undignified salute to its short and desperate life as Roman pigeon.

The waiter, feeling their glances rest on him, turned to everyone and proudly proclaimed: “Good. Now they won’t bother you anymore.”

The women were taken aback. Shocked. Disgusted. Dismayed. “What in the world?” say they to the waiter. “What in God’s name would make you do such a thing to a poor helpless pigeon? We’re calling animal protection on you!”

“Animal protection?!?! Please! Screw these damn pigeons!” And with that, our waiter/pigeon killer went back inside.

The women continued on, indignant, incredulous, howintheworldisthatpossibleIcan’tbelieveitohmygod… and then, just in that moment, another pigeon decided to make an appearance, right there in the middle of their table. Touching down, probably to see what all the fuss was about, staring back at these women.

A voice was carried over the breeze from afar. A satisfied voice. A determined, proud voice, a definite “I told you so” kind of voice:

“HAHAHAHA! NOW YOU’LL SEE! NOW IT’S YOUR F(*$#$NG PROBLEM, LADIES!! HAHAHAHA!”

And just who in the world do you think that was? The waiter inside looked out, satisfied.

Does anyone know the number for animal protection?

(Love you, Rome.)

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16 Responses to “Servizo cliente alla romana – Roman customer service”

  1. nyc/caribbean ragazza July 11, 2011 at 12:08 pm #

    Cracking up over here. Priceless.

  2. Un'americana a Roma July 11, 2011 at 3:15 pm #

    Ha! I know, right??

  3. katieparla July 11, 2011 at 7:56 pm #

    madonna che risate!!!

  4. anna l'americana July 11, 2011 at 8:04 pm #

    For all that Rome has changed in flavor since I moved away in the early eighties, in that which makes it uniquely Rome, it hasn’t! “E mo’ so’ cazzi vostri!”…troppo forte…manco al cinema. Quasi, quasi, sento la voce di Carlo Verdone or Enrico Montesano…..

    During my Vicolo Moroni (it’s in a guide book: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=4349960&id=244204026526&fbid=395751436526 ) years, our back windows faced a convent…. It was like having a back yard full of live roman Sister Bertrilles. You know, except for the flying (from what I saw, anyway, who knows what went on while we slept!)…

  5. rosann July 11, 2011 at 8:05 pm #

    Both stories are too funny! Yet, they both are so typical of the Rome I love. Fabulous. Thanks.

  6. Linda @ Ice Tea For Me July 12, 2011 at 9:07 pm #

    Oh, too funny. Thanks for sharing.

  7. Un'americana a Roma July 13, 2011 at 10:02 am #

    I just keep thinking, wouldn’t it be something to see a waiter in a trendy cafe in the States club a pigeon to death with a broom in front of customers? Holy crap man, I’d pay to see what would happen. Ha!

  8. Beth Sanders July 16, 2011 at 3:15 pm #

    Oh Shelley, Thank you for the the tip about Ammaniti…I just read both I’m not Scared and I’ll Steal You Away without stopping. In English, because I am in Boston…thank you BPL. I found them in the North End which is as close as one can get to Italy in America. I now understand how you could forget to validate your bus ticket.

  9. Un'americana a Roma July 22, 2011 at 12:15 pm #

    Oh! You share my love for Ammaniti! Yay! Isn’t he the best. I just stared on “Come Dio Commanda” — I can’t get enough of him.

  10. Felipe May 26, 2012 at 6:41 pm #

    da quello che si capcsie dalla foto sta facendo un classico caricamento prima del lancioe sec, anche dopo il lancio le mani vanno raccolte in un certo modo.devi pensare che il lancio nel baseball funziona come se il corpo si caricassecome in una posa di tai chi, (lo so che il paragone non e8 il massimo, ma rende l’idea)il lancio classico e8 completamente diverso dal lancio del softball, dove non c’e8 tutto il caricamento appunto, ma solo la rotazione del braccio.lo so perche9 l’ho imparato da piccola dai miei fratelli, e quindi giocavo da maschiaccio anch’io a baseball, altrimenti di solito le femmine fanno il lancio semplificato da softball e comunque il lancio cosec e8 molto pif9 figo.non so se si dice catch ball perf2 quello e8 sicuramente il corrispettivo nel baseball del giocare a due a pallone.

  11. Fatma May 26, 2012 at 6:42 pm #

    a me il baseball piace, sarf2 stato cozidnionato dai fumetti, seppur non ne capisco una sega, perf2 le tre volte che sono andato allo stadio mi sono divertito

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