Today I called the Spanish consulate in San Francisco because I had a question about the visa process. The clerk’s short response to my inquiry:

“I don’t know. Send an email.” *click*

Spain! How could I forget about your top-notch customer service? About the time when I stood in line at Zara for ten minutes without being helped while your employees discussed dinner with their boyfriends! How excited I am to return to the land where bus drivers could make me tear up with one harsh glance; where grocery store clerks made me feel like I should instantly deport myself; where waiters acted like it was a catastrophe that I asked for water.

But Spain, your unwillingness to help does not deter me. I will get my visa one way or another. I will return to your country and I’ll put a smile on, even as it takes you one month to install my internet and another three for my landlord to fix the electrical outlets.

P.S. Sometimes, to remember that good people still exist, I call the customer service line for my U.S. bank. They have mastered the art of faking that they love and cherish you. I wish I could be friends with some Charles Schwab employees in real life.

About The Author

Jenny

Jenny Marshall studied Language, Culture, and Society at the University of California Santa Barbara, and now teaches English in Spain. Here she writes about the intersection of language and culture, and lives a life translated by travel.