I don't know Spanish.

“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?