Today I popped into my favorite, family-owned local restaurant (with authentic Argentinian garb!) to get a delicious and deliciously huge burrito. I'm pretty sure the kids that run the front are a brother-sister team. At any rate, they are young- teens or possibly just out of teen years, and while their English is considerably better than their older co-workers, I still have to strain and listen carefully to understand what they are asking me. Luckily, I have been there enough to know the routine inside and out, and they could talk to me in Chinese and I would still have a pleasant dining experience.
Today was a bit different. After I gave my order, the young male cashier leaned as casually as I think he could lean against the counter and said "So how have you been? You haven't been in here lately."
Me, very surprised at this break in routine, and that he remembers me: I've been doing very well, thank you.
Him: How old are you?
Him: How OLD are you?
Him: Really? Wow.
I start laughing at this point as I hand him my money.
Him: Why are you laughing? (He sounds a bit hurt).
Me: Because I didn't expect you to ask me how old I am.
Him: It's just a question.
Me: How old are you?
Him, proudly, puffing up: I'll be 19 in July. (For our viewers following along at home, that makes him 18.5).
Pause. I gather my change and get my food. To go.
Me: Have a good day.
Him: So maybe I'll see around sometime.
Me: Bye now.
Ha. I tell ya what, I still got it. The young 18.5 year olds really go for me. I wouldn't trade Patrick for anyone, but one has to consider whether this guy could get me the cherished burrito-discount... I'm just saying it's something to think about.