Gather Writing Essential: February 2, 2011

I'm tearing a page out of my journal from May, 2008. Back then, I took a trip to Europe to visit my sister who was living in Rostock, Germany. I also visited a friend I had made when she and her family left their home in France for six months and ended up my neighbors in Minnesota. She was part II of my journey to Grenoble, France.

Buying ice cream with twenty-nine choices on my first visit to Rostock, Germany
I could see what I wanted; but couldn't find the shop that sold it: I'd lurk at the back of lines, only to discover, upon nearing the front of the queue, the retailer serving liquor or bratwurst mit einen kaiser. I tried following people around who held the desired objective, but couldn't muster the nerve to ask: Wo finden Sie es? I was too tired to deal with all that miscommunication entailed.

After walking up and down blocks of stores displaying beach toys and sport clothes and kaffee, I spied one with a long line, a sign out front with pictures of cones and cups filled with neon-colored ice cream, and corresponding prices. Viola!

Ja. I'd found my longed-for treat. As I neared the front of the line, I craned my neck to decipher the flavors before I had to pick one. Vanille, schokolade; pfefferminze, nougat; walnuss, haselnuss, whisky krem, and all sorts of berries.
Now it's my turn.

I point, not remembering the word for dish, open my mouth, and promptly start speaking Thai. Kaw nung... oops. Wrong language. Dang. I smile and hold up two fingers.
She asks if I want two scoops. I can understand that. Yes. Whisky krem und nougat.
New-ghat?! She quizzes. I nod my head. Plop goes a scoop of chocolate-looking soft ice cream.
Nein, nein. Ist das schokolade? I ask. Waving my hands back and forth in front of me. No schokolade, bitte.
The clerk squints at me, thinks about removing the scoop, but realizing it's already melted into the whiskey cream portion and cannot be separated, frowns.
Nur whisky krem, I say.
With an annoyed sigh she grabs a new cup, dishes me a new scoop and bangs it on the counter. I place 50 euros on the money plate and she returns 47.50 back to me.
I walk away dissatisfied with the exchange, vowing to be more patient with myself and others in the future.
I don't even like whiskey.

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I think it's universal--and if I'm wrong, please tell me--we all want to be understood by one another. No, not every single person must understand me, but at least those I care about need to be empathetic and open to me.

This brings me to my friend in France. Because I never learned French in a school or other formal classroom, my grammar was chancey at best.  But no matter how poorly I pronounced words and how illogically I strung them together, she took the time to understand me. She listened. She was patient. And she asked me questions to help her understand me more clearly.

Marie is a priceless friend. In the comment section, tell us about a misunderstanding or a good friend or how you respond to those who just don't "get" you.

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After reading the submissions below, I promise you, you'll wish more people had written to the prompts because the ones here linked are wonderful. You won't want the offerings to end.

Watching Her End by Richard Thuss (featured)

A Lucky Duck by Elsie Duggan (featured)

Going Down? by Len Maxwell (featured)

Caught by the Details by Susan Budig

Submissions from previous prompts

War is Coming by Len Maxwell

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Prompts for February 2, 2011

• in your submission, someone must play a game somehow
• use lines from the song by John Lennon: Watching the Wheels
• tag with gwwe
• publish by February 8 for inclusion in next week's column

"Enjoy your own life without comparing it with that of another." --The Condorcet