A few years ago while searching for a new job I was very excited to stumble across an advertisement for a nightclub manager position. The club was a popular nightspot in my local area and, at that age, I thought it was be a fantastic opportunity — not to mention loads of fun!
Upon examining the advertisement closely, though, I noticed at the fine print at the bottom read: “Must speak Italian”.
My knowledge of the Italian language was limited having only taken a short course in it at high school. But even though I could hardly string a sentence together in Italian, I couldn’t refuse such an exciting offer. In the ignorance of youth, I convinced myself that I could “wing it” and I went ahead and applied. To my amazement I got the job.
When I arrived for my first shift the owner greeted me with a double kiss and a hearty “Buongiorno!” Even though I was panicking inside, I forced a smile as I fumbled through his questions like where my family hailed from. “Umm… Sicily,” I answered unsteadily before he launched in to an animated story (in Italian of course) about what I can only assume was my homeland. I quietly excused myself and headed to the bar.
Thankfully, the majority of the bar staff were young second-generation kids who preferred to converse in English. I found it easy enough managing the bar as I had previous experience, but the most difficult part of the job was concealing the fact that I wasn’t Italian!
I figured in the first two weeks, if I avoided the owners and kept my head down, my colleagues would assume that I was shy which would give me some time to grasp a new language.
I bought Italian books and tapes and carried them with me everywhere so when I had a free moment I could brush up. My Italian/English dictionary became my bible and I religiously wrote down all the phrases I had heard during the day so I could look them up when I finished for the night. I even rented Italian movies on my days off!
I had also developed a few techniques to mask my embarrassing lack of knowledge. When I had to speak to the owner on the phone I would pretend that my line was bad which prompted him to speak very clearly and slowly. I worked out when he would be visiting the club and I avoided him like the plague! When I had a message to give him, I passed it on to his bookkeeper who would write it down for him in Italian. As for the bar staff who preferred to speak their native tongue, I gave them shifts on the days I had off.
If a customer asked me a question I couldn’t immediately decipher, I blamed the booming music and asked them to repeat themselves louder. Even if I had no idea what someone was talking about, I found simply nodding in acknowledgment saved me on many occasions!
After a few months, I became quite good at speaking Italian — although in no way was I fluent. Eventually the long hours, the late nights and all the pretending had stressed me out. I felt it was only a matter of time before I was exposed as a fake, so I decided to quit while I was ahead.
In all, it was a good experience — I made some great friends and found a love of Italian culture. I have plans to visit Italy in June and I can’t wait to see what “my homeland” is really like!
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