Signor Siciliano

After managing to lug my weight in groceries to the bus stop, I patiently wait for Herr Busfahrer to return to his seat so I can purchase my ticket. I am quite pleased with myself for finally summoning the courage to ride the local bus on my own, now that I can confidently say in German, "One ticket, please, to the Heerbrugg train station, with half-tax discount." For the last few months I have been relying solely on the S-Bahn since I don't have to speak to anyone to acquire a ticket.

On the occasion of my fourth solo-trip, I do declare that I find taking the bus a rather pleasant and convenient experience. As I wait for Herr Busfahrer, I realize that it's also the preferred mode of transportation for my new friend: Signor Siciliano. I had met him three days prior as I was boarding bus number 304 for my second solo-trip. He had been speaking Italian to the driver and I understood him (despite his mumbling and slurred speech), so I giggled at an appropriate moment. Suddenly, all eyes were on me and the driver was questioning my Nationalität.

I replied, "Non sono italiana, ma capisco e parlo un po' d'italiano."

That declaration was all Signor Siciliano needed to feel compelled to tell me about his grown grandchildren and where he works and how he misses Sicily. He got off at the next stop and that was that. So here I am, three days later, and he's on my bus again. It's a completely different time of day and everything. But get this - he doesn't even remember me! Even after talking my ear off and telling me how bellina I was only a few days ago, today he politely greets me with no recollection of our previous encounter. He introduces himself and then proceeds to recount the same stories he had told me the first time we met. I just pretend it's all new to me...

Photo Credit: www.rtb.ch