40 ways you know you’ve lived in Sardinia too long

I recently read a hilarious meme on Eupedia titled: you know you’ve lived in Italy too long when... It was an awesome read and made me think about the past five years of my life; holed up in small-town Sardinia. So, I decided to write a list about living in Sardinia, Italy.

40 ways you know you’ve lived in Sardinia too long

  • Time ceases to exist in all matters of urgency and you learn patience really is a virtue.
  • You talk with your hands and a few facial expressions to get your daily bread.
  • The deli clerk, butcher, bartender and painter know what colour your underwear is.
  • You don’t care when people push in front of you while waiting in line as you now have this iron clad patience.
  • You hear multiple gunshots go off in the near distance signalling that it’s October & hunting season has begun.
  • Casu Marzu intrigues you and you are tempted to ask the local shepherd about it but can’t stomach the thought.
  • You notice a community poster stating that construction will begin on your street in a months time. The following morning construction begins.
  • You find a job and work like a horse only to be paid months down the road.
  • You go for a 6k run and finally have the courage to flip the finger and shout asshole to anyone that drives past you faster than 30mph.
  • You get irritable if you miss your 3 hour siesta.
  • You stop comparing prices against the Canadian dollar because fuck, everything is expensive on an island, in Italy.
  • You foolishly believe that Sardinia is a country on to her own and are shocked by the shenanigans of the ‘mainlanders.’
  • You drink only purified spring water from the mountains high up because plastic bottled water freaks you out.
  • You walk 3km up-hill to collect this precious spring water; carrying 10 litres on your back on the way back down-hill.
  • You say ‘only if He permits’ as you gaze sky-wards when old ladies ask you why you’ve not created life.
  • You carry little old ladies groceries home from the supermarket, cause well, they remind you of your Nana.
  • You speak more of the local dialect than you do in the national language.
  • You hitchhike and people pick you up because you’re that crazy Australian, American, Canadian girl and they want to know more about you.
  • You are a converted espresso drinker; you drink three cups of espresso before 11am.
  • You realize that one mirto is okay but two mirto will knock you out for days.
  • You go mushroom hunting in the mountains and step in cow dung; you don’t squeal like a girl because tonight you are cooking a mushroom risotto for 8 people.
  • You go wild asparagus hunting and fend off wild dogs with a stare down.
  • You eat pecorino cheese for breakfast, lunch and dinner because it’s just that good.
  • You don’t own a cell phone because all your friends & family are on Skype.
  • You have no real girlfriends here because they are all jealous of your Australian, American, Canadian heritage.
  • You show up an hour late to every appointment because that’s just the way the cookie crumbles in Italy.
  • You are scheduled for a pap smear while menstruating and when you try to protest the doctor asks you – what’s your problem?
  • You pay €100 for every gynaecologist visit which lasts seven minutes and involves two doctors a nurse and your husband.
  • You befriend every local cat, kitten and dog even when the locals tell you not to.
  • Other expats reach out to you who are living/lived in Sardinia and they confirm that it’s not easy to live & work in Sardinia.
  • You have a few haters because of your blog; they want you to shut the hell up and stop talking smack about the reality of living on a small island in the Med.
  • After 5 years you realize the grass is the same colour all over the world.
  • You receive baked goods, canned goods, fresh fruit & vegetables instead of iStuff for Christmas, Thanksgiving and your birthday.
  • You stop a friendship with an elderly man because he asks you how many times you “lay under your husband.”
  • You hear and see jet fighter planes that soar too low and think the world is coming to an end and hide under the bed for the rest of the afternoon.
  • You wear the same clothes for five days in a row and sometimes sleep in them.
  • You refuse to work for € 3.90 an hour because it’s unethical and against your Australian, American, Canadian rights.
  • You are chastised for refusing the above payment – you should be grateful to even have a job at all – but you aren’t.
  • You pee in the bushes, even on the side of the road and you don’t care who see’s you.
  • You respond to yes questions with Eja and say Ajo all the time.

 Did you laugh out loud at any of these points? Which ones? Tell me below.

To tip or not to tip in Italy?

In one of my online expat forums a few good questions about tipping in Italy were posted: Do we tip in Italy? What is the coperto? Why did the restaurant automatically add 15%?

A tip (also called a gratuity) is a sum of money tendered to certain service sector workers for a service performed or anticipated. Such payments and their size are a matter of social custom. Tipping varies among cultures and by service industry.¹

This is a rare sight in Italy but I found it at one restaurant just yesterday.

Many travelers who are from countries where tipping is customary; and are visiting non-tipping countries are often left wondering – to tip or not to tip? I’ve seen graphs from five years ago, stating that it’s customary to tip 10% (in addition to a service charge) in Italian restaurants. I disagree with this, five years ago and today. We have never left a 10% tip in any restaurant in Italy and I know other Italians who never tip the 10% which is stated in these charts.

To tip or not to tip? That is the question on everyone’s mind.

Do we tip in Italy?

There is really no straight forward answer to this. If it’s in your means to tip, then tip; but make sure that the hotel or restaurant has not already included an automatic service charge to your bill. Read all fine print.

I worked in a fancy hotel/restaurant this past summer and on occasion the customer did slip a few €10’s into my pocket. The tips came from the Brits and Italians – two countries not accustomed to tipping but they tipped anyway. I’ve also worked in a little coffee-house, not one tip, ever.

What is a coperto?

The coperto perfectly translated means cover charge. Most restaurants add an automatic, per person coperto. The €1-3 coperto is charged for taking up space in the restaurant; it goes towards the cleaning of the linens, glassware and sometimes it’s divided among the staff.

In Sardinia the average coperto is €2.50. From up-scale, posh restaurants to Mom and Pop diners with paper place-mats and plastic cutlery will charge the coperto. Be sure to check the small print on your menu. Some regions in Italy have tried to ban the coperto but to no avail. It still exists and people are still paying it.

Why did the restaurant add and automatic 15% to my bill at a restaurant in Venice, Florence or Rome?

The truth – you’re a tourist and they know it. Most locals are not given the automatic 10-15% when they dine in these tourist spots. However it’s illegal … unless it is written in the menu.

What is the difference between a service charge and the coperto?

A service charge is based on the customers discretion of service rendered. The service charge is divided among the wait staff, bartenders, kitchen staff and sometimes even the management. Generally the service charge is an extra 10-15% of your total bill.

A coperto is an automatic charge that goes towards the cleaning and repairing of linens, glassware and taking up space in a restaurant. Between €1-3.

What if the restaurant added a 15% service charge and the coperto?

Be sure to read all the fine print on the menu before handing the menu back to the staff. Then be ready to fight it, if you have it in you. It’s illegal and they are taking advantage of the unknowing tourist.

What to look for on the menu or bill:

Aggiungere – To add

10-15% automaticamente aggiunto per servizio. 
10-15% automatically added for service.

Coperto – cover charge

I have never tipped extra in the 5 years I have lived in Sardinia. We didn’t tip extra when we went to Rome or Padova. Why? Because of the coperto. If we are dining with 10 friends at a fabulous restaurant by the sea the total coperto charge will come to €25. That’s a lot of extra money for cleaning linens or replacing broken glassware. Generally in a posh place the wage it somewhat higher than say a beach bar. Some servers in these posh establishments will take offence at your extra tip.

However – if you find yourself at a wonderful wooden beach bar which is packed with tourists, generally there is no coperto. The staff in these type of establishments make poor, poor wages.

How do I know this?

I was offered to work in such a beach bar this year and was offered the following:

€1000 a month; 7 days a week; 8-10 hours a day for 5 months (May-September is high season in Italy.) Pretty crappy, eh? So, tip that bartender or waitress who has run around making fancy cocktails and bringing you the local beer. They will be grateful.

To tip or not to tip in Italy? That’s up to you – the traveler, businessperson, backpacker or tourist. Just remember to read all the fine print otherwise you may find that you’ve been double charged a service fee.

What is the custom of tipping in your country?

Source: Wikipedia¹
Related articles from around the globe:
How to order like a local at restaurants in Portugal 
How much to tip the waitress in Hawaii

“It’s getting so cold, I wanna put my toque on.” – Coldtober in Sardinia

Cold air. Cold in here. Cold air. It’s getting cold in here. So, put on all your clothes. It’s getting so cold, I wanna put my toque on!” Sung to the tune of Nelly’s – Hot in Here.

It’s not only sunshine and rainbows on the second largest island in the Mediterranean; it also gets cold, very cold. Autummer no longer, ’tis now the season of Coldtober. Coldtober has generally been my favourite month in Sardinia.

NOT THIS YEAR!

Last October we had beautiful Autummer days where we lazed on empty beaches, not a tourist in sight. But this year, this year it’s been a rotten wet and cold Coldtober.

The following photo I snapped yesterday afternoon. We’d just received yet another lashing of torrential rain with a snowy mixture of hail and winds so fierce that it made the hail seem like bullets hitting against the side of the house. It was intense.

Bravely I tried to stick my head out the bathroom window; I wanted to snap a photo of this great tempesta. The hail was unforgiving and the wind relentless. I got walloped in the face with hail, wind and rain – certainly not your expectations of a beautiful blue paradise. Afraid for my camera, I retreated back inside to the warm comforts of my bed and with remote control beside me I popped in a chick flick.

Today – I dress myself as follows. I’m not kidding.

Me and my Canadian toque

Wicked weather all over the world. Just last week I was in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, we debated going to the beach but instead decided to clean out the car.

In western Canada there was a large earthquake registered at 6.3M which caused a Tsunami alert for Hawaii just 18 hours ago.

In Queens and Manhattan people were told to evacuate as Sandy starts her wicked decent on the east coast of USA and Canada.

What’s going on in your neck of the woods? Are you in Sandy’s path?

Chicken Soup for the Expat Soul

There is nothing like Mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup to cure all hangovers aches and pains, sniffles and sore throats. But getting Mom to cook us that favourite dish when we live across oceans and mountains is asking the impossible.

So, what’s an expat do to? Learn the tricks of the trade!

It is with great pleasure to announce that I have mastered my Mom’s Chicken Noodle Soup. I’m going to share with you how to do it yourself whether you are staying in a hostel in the Alps or are snowboarding in the Blue mountains. Oh – and it’s super cheap too! This is the recipe for you.

Before we get started, I think it’s important for you to know that I don’t measure things, ever. Instead I use the eye-ball approach. How many guests x amount of veggies & chicken = when I think it’s enough I begin to chop.

Chicken Soup for the Expat Soul

You will need:

  • 2 large pots (one for par-boiling the chicken and the other to simmer the soup in.)
  • Water. I usually fill the pot 3/4 full.
  • 1 Flavoured cube like Oxo for the broth base (yes, you can also make your own broth with the water from the par-boiled chicken – but I think that’s gross.)
  • Carrots
  • Onion
  • Garlic
  • Celery
  • Parsley
  • Basil
  • Noodles (I prefer the small thin noodles but it’s not important what you use. I’ve used penne and farfalla in the past.)
  • Olive oil (because life is better with a bit of oil).

Getting started

  • Par-boil chicken for about 10 mins. It’s best to use chicken on the bone.
  • Chop all ingredients to whatever size you desire.
  • Add all ingredients (at the same time) to the 2nd pot of boiled water.
  • Add par-boiled chicken to the veggie pot.
  • Add a splash of olive oil.
  • Stir occasionally.
  • Simmer for 2.5 hours. (Note – this can be made within the hour but the flavours develop if allowed to simmer longer.)
  • Remove chicken from the bone.
  • Add your noodles towards the end of cooking.

Now all you need is a dash of parmesan cheese and your Chicken Soup for the Expat’s Soul is ready.

I made this soup for dinner yesterday evening. And, as usual it was a hit. There were about 8 servings for the low, low-cost of €6.00! Snaptastic! The most expensive item was the half chicken at €3.00.

Dig in and enjoy.

What comfort food from home do you make for your family?

Check out some other expat blogger’s recipes for a cold day:

Pumpkin and pancetta soup via Girl in Florence
Cold weather? don’t worry, re-heat some ribollita via Our Adventure in Croatia

Top 10 Reasons I’ll Miss the Italian Job

It would be a complete injustice if I wrote only about the horrors I faced this year with my Italian job(s). There were a few good points to waiting tables in Italy and I’ve listed them for you in a fun Top 10 List.

Top 10 Reasons I’ll Miss the Italian Job
by

10. The fabulous multi-cultural clients.

9. The extra €20 slipped into my pocket, every other night.

8. Being offered to sit and drink with clients during my shift (was offered many, many times but never took anyone up on the offer).

7. Nightly raids of the (permitted) gelato station – pistachio here I come!

6. Well-behaved gorgeous children from all walks of life.

5. The Russians. They were hilarious, generous and polite.

4. The blazing orange sun-set.

3. My Italian, Sardinian, Czech, Hungarian and German colleagues. They were all a fabulous bunch of people.

2. Packing take-away lunch and dinner for my husband from the staff dining-hall. The food was good – plus I had to pay for it!

1. Speaking English to Italian clients; speaking Italian to English clients and speaking a mix of both to the Russians. They laughed, I laughed, and we all laughed together. Priceless moments.

What are some of the pros and cons of your expat work?

Related articles:

Top 13 Reasons I Quit the Italian Job
The Raw Reality of Expat Life in Small Town Sardinia

Top 13 Reasons I Quit the Italian Job

I had a job this summer. For 30 days, I was an English-speaking waitress who worked in a buffet restaurant on the island of Sardinia, Italy. Here are the reasons I quit my job.

Top 13 Reasons I Quit the Italian Job
by

13. Being belittled by an angry co-worker in front of 10 other co-workers because I forgot a cappuccino, on my second shift.

12. Being docked €5.00 a day to eat prepared meals in the staff dining-lounge, even if you choose not to eat with your angry co-worker(s).

11. The corns and calluses were growing on my feet faster than a speeding jet.

10. Working for 5 hours then sleeping for 5 hours – rinse and repeat twice a day, is no easy lifestyle.

9. Losing 12 pounds off my bones in 21 days is a sickly sight. And I ate like a horse – which is pretty usual for me.

8. Finding out that my co-workers’ rent is paid for the 5-6 six months of employment was utterly shocking! No one offered to pay my mortgage – why?

7. Seeing co-workers bringing in their laundry to be laundered by the hotel – for free. (My laundry basket runneth over.)

6. Button down shirts with a fancy necktie and long black pants should be banned, anywhere where the temperature rests on boiling.

5. Working 4.5 hours on a scheduled day off – is not a day off.

4. No over-time pay – say what?!

3. Management asking for English translations on all menus – without pay!

2. Being told to speak only in English when conversing with co-workers. Wait a minute – I thought I was in Italy, the only Italian speaking country in the world. Hey Dorothy – can I borrow your sparkly red shoes?

1. Working 4.5 hours in the morning + 4.5 hours in the evening = does not equal the 6.4 hours which is clearly stated in my contract.

Related articles:

The Raw Reality of Expat Life in Small Town Sardinia
My Expat Job Struggles | Sardinia, Italy

1st International Day of the Girl | October 11, 2012

The United Nations has officially declared October 11, 2012 as the world’s first International Day of the Girl Child.

The theme of this year’s IDG is ending ‘child’ marriage.

Over 30% of girls in developing countries are married before 18 years of age; around 14% are married before the age of 15. Early marriage is a risk factor for early pregnancy and poor reproductive health outcomes. Furthermore it perpetuates the cycle of under-education and poverty.³

Facts

Around the World ¹

  • Around the globe, girls are three times more likely to be malnourished than boys.
  • Of the world’s 130 million out-of-school youth, 70% are girls.
  • Each year roughly two million girls between the ages of 5 and 15 are trafficked, sold or coerced into the sex trade.
  • Girls are disproportionately affected by a number of harmful practices, including early and forced marriage and female genital mutilation.
  • Girls continue to face obstacles in access to education and other basic services. 

In Canada ²

  • Young women from 15 to 19 experience nearly 10 times the rate of dating violence as young men.
  • Nearly 70% of victims of internet intimidation are women or young girls.
  • Girls and young women are nearly twice as likely as young men and boys to suffer certain mental health issues, such as depression.
  • Issues of body image and self-esteem remain prevalent among girls.

We must empower our young girls with a healthy self-esteem and the right tools for a brighter future.

We must put a stop to the suffering of a ‘child’ marriage.

If you’ve read this far I highly suggest you read: Canada’s Honourary Youth Ambassador  for International Day of the Girl 2012 – Ms. Alaina Podmorow. She began her quest for change when she was just nine years old. She is now fifteen years old and has won several awards in Canada for her continued support for young girls in Afghanistan. She’s an inspiration for young women everywhere.

Are you wondering what I’m going to do for International Day of the Girl?

  • I will blog, tweet and FB about International Day of the Girl.
  • I will go to my English tutoring session this afternoon and empower two young Italian minds to be the best they can be!
  • I will spread the message to my three young nieces, who, I hope will spread the message along to their friends.
  • I will hold this close to my heart until there is an end to ‘child’ marriage.

What will you do?

1 Sources: Plan Canada; UN Women.
2 Source: Statistics Canada
³ Source: WHO International Day of the Girl Child

Top 5 Favourite Expat Blogs of the Day

I’ve fallen in love with some new-to-me expat blogs and I can’t contain my excitement any longer. If there’s such a thing as a blog-stalker then I’m definitely one. I’ve been stalking reading these following 5 blogs for the last few days, over and over again. I come back to read hilarious expat tales or to witness stunning photography from across the globe.

In no particular order of importance … My Top 5 Favourite Expat Blogs of the Day. 

If you click the header you will be swiftly taken to an awesome expat blog.

Mango Mornings is written by Liana an American expat in the Philippines. She’s a gifted story-teller who takes us on a journey around Asia and re-counts her expat tales in the Philippines. Check out an Office Field Trip she took with a cup of Jollibee’s take-a-way breakfast.

2Summers is written by American writer Heather Mason who has lived out her expat fantasies in quirky Johannesburg, South Africa for the last two years. Because Girls Kick Ass I thought you might like to read this post by Heather: Lily and Zulu Girl Kick Ass. This is part three in a series about professional female boxing. Awesome, right? I know!

A City Broad Abroad is written by an American expat living in Malta. She describes herself as eclectic and her favourite childhood celebrity was Carl Ripken Jr. When she’s not saving her pennies to buy a condo in the sky, you can find her writing about her expat (mis)adventures on the tiny island of Malta.

Greek Wanderings is written by a self-proclaimed nomad, pilgrim, vagabond and wanderer. She is now teaching English in Oman and she bides her time between Virginia and Greece. Her photos of stunning Fira, Santorini brought back many warm, wonderful memories for me. I hold Santorini close to my heart and it saddened me when I accidentally deleted 95% of my Greek photos!

Un’Americana a Roma is written by yet another expat American who has lived in Rome, Italy since 2001. Her blog is a hilarious take on everyday Italian life. Learn How to Take a Taxi in Rome and Not Get Ripped Off and Italianate which loosely translates into something being an ‘americanism’ and other Italian ailments.

What are some of your favourite expat blogs?

Canadian Waitress in Italy | Dumb Blondes

Two and a half months ago.

Genoveva bumped into him in the lunch line; he laughed a curious laughter as she introduced herself.  “Mi scusi … Salve, mi chiamo Genoveva.” She held out her hand as a peace-offering. “Ciao. Mi chiamo Andrea. Cosa stai facendo in albergo?” He pumped her hand with such force that she thought her heart might stop. “Sono una cameriera nel ristorante a buffet e tu?” They moved slowly down the lunch line together. Today’s special: Baked fish, roast potatoes, traditional Sardinian gnocchi, sautéed eggplants drizzled in the finest olive oil and seadas. “Sono responsabile della sicurezza, qui da sei anni. Di dove sei? Non sembri molto italiana.”

It was true; Genoveva is not Italian. Even with her slight name change she can’t fool anyone “Sono di Canada. Il mio marito è sardo. Sono qui da quasi cinque anni. Sei Sardo?” She didn’t think he was from Sardinia; his bombshell blonde locks gave him away but his accent was so Sardinian. “So you are American! Right on, we can speak English then. I miss speaking English. My father was born in the south of Sardinia and my mother is from Poland. Sardinia has been my home for the last twenty years. Why are you here, in Sardinia?” She silently punched him square between the eyes and said “I’m from Canada, not America.”

His next response surprised her that she almost choked on a piece of gnocchi. “You’re from North America. It’s the same thing as America. Therefore you are American.”

North America Image via WikipediaHe was right in an odd strange way, but what he failed to realize was that within that one continent are twenty-three very different countries. “No, I’m from Canada. I hold a Canadian passport. I say EH and I had a polar bear as a pet when I was a kid.” Her natural sarcasm had taken hold of her. She could see him pondering the idea of twenty-three countries within one continent, smoke coming out of his ears. “So, you lived in an igloo too? I’ve always wanted to live in an igloo.” Genoveva has never in her Canadian life seen an igloo; with the exception of the travel documentaries she used to watch. She did try to build one when she was eight years old but her polar bear sat on it. “Yes, I lived in an igloo. It’s like, so really cool.” She picked up her lunch tray and bid Andrea adieu and she hoped to never see him again.

Three days later

“Hey, America! How’s it going?” Agitation gripped her as she invisibly kicked him between the legs. “Ciao Andrea. I’m from Canada; remember the igloos and polar bears? We spoke about this just three days ago.” This was one time Genoveva wished she had a super cell phone because if she did, she would open an app and show Andrea the international border line dividing Canada and America. “Oh come on, Miss. America, it’s the same thing.” In her mind’s eye she dropkicked him so hard his Polish head split open on the reception floor; instead she said “I’m late for work. Ciao.” She ran into the restaurant and hoped again to never, ever see his ignorant face.

Today

Genoveva wanted to buy a small token of appreciation for her hairdresser and walked into the local flower shop. “Ciao Anna, come stai?”

“Sto bene, grazie. Cosa vuoi oggi. I’m good, thank you. What do you want today?”

“I would like a small bouquet, as a gift for a friend.”

Genoveva picked out a beautiful long stem bamboo shoot, a sunflower and some beautiful white flowers. Anna wrapped them nicely in colourful paper when Genoveva heard a familiar voice; her skin crawled.

“Hey – Genoveva! How’s it going? The hotel season is finally over; I haven’t seen you around the hotel in the last few months, what happened? I can’t wait to get back to the south of the island. When are you going back to America?” His blonde moments outshone everything about him. “I’m from Canada and I live here in Sardinia. Five years now.” Anna the wonderful local floral lady piped in “Si. Genoveva is from Canada but she’s one of us now.”

Defeated, his smile turned down and his face turned sour; he looked at this worn Adidas and said … nothing. He had memory flashbacks of their conversation in the lunch line: twenty-three countries, one continent – America. The local Sardinian woman defeated Andrea with a simple, honest statement about Genoveva fitting in. Finally.

**If you liked this story, try these:

Canadian Waitress in Italy | Embarrassing Moments
Notes from 1997 | Toronto to Bondi Beach, Australia

Canadian Waitress in Italy | Embarrassing Moments

It was a summer of firsts for Genoveva: first time she ironed … in fifteen years, first time she spoke her flash Italian skills to the general traveling public in a busy buffet restaurant and it was the first time in over twenty-two years that her natural blonde locks came through. Not sure which was the worst of the lot, Genoveva decided to let the blonde shine on though for the duration of the summer. She was in fact, so busy with her new Italian waitressing job that she didn’t have the time to fuss with her lengthening blonde locks; a ponytail would have to suffice.

Day One

In a dusty dresser drawer she found a new-ish pair of dress pants. Black as per restaurant protocol with a super large flare at the bottom. They reminded her of the 60’s; the free love era, where everyone and their dog wore bell bottoms. She whined to her Sardinian husband “Nobody wears bell bottoms … in Italy! Do you think these are okay for work? I’m pretty sure I will be the laughing-stock of Sardinia. Canadian girl in bell bottoms … honey … are you listening?”

He was listening, listening again to his wife’s ramble about clothes. He didn’t care what she wore as long as she went to work. “Sono belle, non si preoccupi. Nessuno sta guardando i pantaloni, più si ha che super-sexy grembiule rosa che copra le gambe.” It was true; Genoveva did have to wear a long apron which fell to her knees. She pranced around their loft in her new waitressing uniform, feelings of elation at a new exciting job – serving the public … in Italian.

“What about the button down shirt? Do you think my boss will notice that I bought it at the Chinese shop in Tempio? I mean the cute Chinese woman DID cut the long sleeves off, and then re-sewed short sleeves! How weird! Look … honey … LOOK! I don’t know if this can pass, heck she cut and sewed all in a matter of minutes. How can someone do that so fast? Honey …?”

She studied the conditional present of volere (to want) for hours before her first night shift and until the back of her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth, trying desperately to get those r’s out. “Che cosa vorreste? Or … honey … should I say che cosa volete?” A loud grumble came from the tool shed, in English this time “Say what you want, don’t worry.”

She worried about her bell bottom pants making the local gossip column; she worried about the iron job on her €10 Chinese cut-job shirt and she worried about speaking Italian to Italian people who pay mega bucks to park their expensive selves in the dining-room. “Honey, I’m ready! Ajo! Let’s go. I need to be there early. It’s not a good sign if I show up perfectly on the hour. Twenty minutes early is good. Ajo! AJO!” He opened the rusty car door for her and she sat down with a heavy sigh. A popular song danced in her head; it’s the same song that appears every time she is slightly stressed “Don’t worry, ‘bout a ting. Cause every little ting, gonna be alright.”

Later that evening …

“Honey, I’m home! And I have to pee really bad!” She ran past her husband who was sound asleep on the sofa and into the en-suite bathroom. She was too happy, too excited; floating even. Everything went oddly perfect on her first Italian dinner shift and it didn’t bother her when she joined English and Italian words. She spoke Italian to English clients and English to Italian clients, the customers got a kick out of her; they asked her where she is from, what brought her to Sardinia, oh … love, they all understood, that was why they were on holiday in the first place – rekindling dead romance. She even managed to snag a €10 tip from one table visiting from Venice. They were very sun-tanned and Genoveva made a mental note to up the sunscreen. At least the €10 Edward Scissor hands button down shirt was paid for.

“Oh, honey I really like it there. I know it was my first night and all, everyone is so nice … OH MIO DIO … WHAT THE WHAT?!? NOOOOOOO!” Her elation quickly disappeared as she looked into the seat of her bell bottom pants while sitting on the throne. A split … a BIG split that ran all the way from the front zip to the back of her bell bottom pants.
“HONEY! MY. PANTS. ARE. SPLIT. RIGHT. DOWN. THE. ENTIRE. CRACK! OH MY G..!” Embarrassment washed over her already hot body and a tear made its way down her sweaty right cheek. Moments of the night flashed though her pulsating veins; she remembered the hostess having a keen eye on her behind; she remembered bending over (from the waist) to pick up a crate of water, she remembered a moment when she was wedged between two tables rambling on in Ital-ish. Genoveva thought that maybe the hostess was a lesbian or that her boss was the pervy kind as he offered a huge smile and a helping hand with the crate of water. She thinks back to the tip that slipped slyly into her long apron, an apron which covered her bell bottom pants, an apron which should have covered everything … well almost everything.

Genoveva’s husband awoke from his slumber, he turned off the TV and walked into the bathroom to greet his hysterical wife “What colour are your underwear?”
Nudo! OH MIO D … NUDO.” She shrieked in angst, pain and embarrassment. Her husband rolled into bed, in fits of Sardinian laughter.

Without realizing it Genoveva’s bell bottom pants went down in Italian restaurant history.

Stay tuned for more tales from Canadian Waitress in Italy.