“I don’t know Spanish!” I exclaimed to Carly and Sarah in
the food court. I was triumphant. It was a EUREKA moment! (like the discovery of electricity, not the
trippy tv show from Nickelodeon)
This conclusion stemmed from a story that goes way back, to
my first legit job out of college at an accounting firm. My boss wanted me to put a stack of papers
outside our cubicles and instructed me to write, “BASURA” on them. I asked why.
She replied, “it’s for the cleaning crew.” I did as instructed.
Seven years later, I see a handwritten note a coworker
placed on a stack of boxes, “BASURA.”
Interesting, I thought, how both the accounting firm in
Pittsburgh, and this nonprofit in Washington, DC, have hired the same cleaning
company. Oh, I guess the cleaning
company is just national like Molly Maids or something.
For EIGHT years I thought BASURA was the name of a cleaning
company. I had concluded that my boss
had me write BASURA on a stack of newspapers to signify to the cleaning
company, hey these are for you to throw out.
It wasn’t until I was standing at Chick-fil-A in the mall
and tossing a straw wrapper into the trash-can where it clearly was written,
“TRASH/BASURA” did it all click.
BASURA means TRASH in Spanish.
Did I mention I have a French minor?
