Frankford Avenue, 3/12/07
I was walking back from the Chinese joint at Girard Avenue with some rice to eat with my Indian food, passing the intersection of Shackamaxon and Frankford. There’s a bus stop there, and this 50-something year old man shaped like an overripe pear with breasts was sitting there waiting for the 5 or maybe the 23. His hair was greasy, and he wore coke-bottle glasses in cheap plastic frames. I think he had a cane danging between the cheap pleather sneakers on his feet. As the bus approached, he stood up and I saw what was written on his shirt: This is America, So I Order in English.
It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity.
UPDATED, For Non-Philadelphians: What the shirt refers to is a tempest in a teapot controversy that took place in South Philly at Geno’s Steaks, one of the two cheesesteak giants of Philly, located catty corner from the original cheesesteak source itself, Pat’s Steaks. Debate has raged since time immemorial about who has the best steak: I prefer Pat’s to Geno’s but my favorite is Abner’s and I’ve been meaning to get up to Steve’s in the Northeast.
Sometime last year, Joe Vento, the owner of Geno’s and a second generation American whose grandfather spoke no English, decided he was going to strike a blow against the invading Mexicans who have been immigrating to South Philly: he put up a sign reading “THIS IS AMERICA, WHEN ORDERING ‘SPEAK ENGLISH’”. Hilarity ensued. The right-wing nativist wackos came out of the woodwork to anoint Vento with oil and crown him with laurels. Disgruntled lefties and college kids lined up to order steaks in any language BUT English. The trained chimps local media had a field day. Word has it that even Pat’s got into the act: long the target of Geno’s passive aggressive “Known For Cleanliness” sign capitalizing on the distinct frumpiness of Pat’s establishment, they gleefully put up a sign that said “We’ll Serve Anyone!” [note: I gotta fact check that part, but it certainly SOUNDS true. And if not, it SHOULD be.]
Philadelphia has a pretty large population of people with small brains, and for a few weeks there was an intensely ignorant citywide debate about whether Joe Vento was crossing the line, whether Latinos need to put more effort into learning to speak English, and whether we’re all just a bunch of xenophobes, a word half this city probably doesn’t even know how to spell.
This is America, so I order in English. Not “… so I speak English,” itself a loaded statement ripe for debate. I order in English. As I type this update, I’m envisioning the fat greasy man with the play-doh skin sitting in cheap restaurant conversing fluently in Mandarin Chinese, or perhaps in High German. The waiter comes up, and without missing a beat, the man code switches to the familiar Fishtown honk. “Aoh, if youse guys got dat filett minyawn, dat would be da best fuckin’ thing. Oh, and some buttled wooder, from Itlee er sun’n,” and after ordering with a brisk “Where was I” picks up the conversation with a few lines from Rumi, in Arabic.
Philadelphia.
3 Responses to “Frankford Avenue, 3/12/07”
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August 1st, 2007 at 9:39 pm
“This is Amurrica, so I don’t care if you understand my order or not.”
August 2nd, 2007 at 10:09 am
This began on a rageful-inducing note and ended in hilarity. You’ve done it once again, my friend!
‘Naw, dat ain’t roit!’
August 2nd, 2007 at 10:33 am
not to be a snot, but rumi wrote his poetry in persian (it’s even more confusing because, though jalal al-din mohammed rumi was a tajik from modern day afghanistan, he had an arabic name and the end of that name means “the roman”). however, much of his work has been translated into arabic, so i’m sure your hypothetical fat greasy man was reciting a well-known arabic translations of the original persian verse.