Arrividerci, Olney!

Forgot to tell you all about this.

Last weekend, I went down to Philadelphia to hang with the Baron. My route from here in the Howling Wilderness is to take 263 to 611, which turns into North Broad Street. It's pretty much a straight shot, thirty-five miles door to door.

And it takes me through North Philadelphia. A neighborhood that's largely African-American. Okay, almost entirely African-American.

So there I am, going from stoplight to stop light--back in the day, the lights were synchronized so if you went thirty miles per hour, you'd only hit every seventh or so--and I pull up next to this big SUV. And I notice that the driver of the SUV is totally hot. Fiftyish, chiseled features, steel gray hair... just a beautiful man.

And he caught me lookin'. And he smiled. And I smiled back at him. And he grinned at me and nodded hello. And I grinned at him, and gave him a woof.

And thought to myself... Well this is cool!

The light turns green, he takes off, I take off. But then, a couple of lights later, guess who pulls up next to me again.

He smiles at me. I smile at him. And then he gestures for me to roll down my window.

Okay. I'm game. So I roll down the window.

And hot SUV guy says to me... "Buon' Giorno! Parle italiano?"

???

I replied, "Si... parlo poco d'italiano, na molto."

"Bene! Vogli comprare una giubba? Una giubba bella! Di Giorgio Armani!"

Uh... "Giubba." Uh... Scarpe, cravate... Jacket! "Giubba" means jacket! He has a Giorgio Armani jacket he wants me to comprare. But I don't need a Giorgio Armani giubba.

"Ah Signor, mille grazie ma no. Per mi, no Giubba."

"Certo?"

"Si, certo, ma grazie."

The light turned green. A couple of blocks later he turned and I went straight.

And then it sort of dawned on me... I just had a conversation in Italian on North Broad Street.

What the hell?

When was the last time you negotiated for the purchase of a jacket in Italian? And how did he know I spoke Italian? And does he just do business with people who speak Italian? Does he drive through Philadelphia all day asking random strangers if they parle italiano? And wouldn't South Philadelphia, Land of Cheesesteaks And Organized Crime, be a better place to try that?

A mystery.

But I have to admit I felt pretty damned good about those three semesters of Italian I had in college. Verrrrry cosmopolitan.

It's a shame that in my three semesters of Italian, we didn't cover "get laid."

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