Would you believe me when I tell you....
Feb 2, 2023 7:42:44 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Feb 2, 2023 7:42:44 GMT -5
Would you believe me when I tell you....
"Me puedes tu creer a mi,..."Would you believe me when I tell you...."
That was the rhetorical question that my father always asked whenever something extremely unusual happened to him and he was about to describe it in full detail. Eventually, my mom became tired of hearing it because she knew that whatever was to follow it, was always something that my father had somehow managed to bring upon himself in some sort of illogical way. So after years of having patiently listened to the phrase: "Would you believe me if I tell you..." followed by a story in which he was always severely and unjustly victimized, her patience had finally reached its limit.
This time, my father had entered the apartment, but had remained standing silently and somberly in front of the apartment door as if profoundly contemplating what had just befallen him.
"Que te pasa Hipoilito?" "What's wrong Hipolito?" she asked him after waiting a reasonable amount of time for him to say something. After all, he usually asked about whether dinner was ready as soon as he arrived, so this was definitely something unusual.
In response to her question, he responded in an awed or amazed tone of voice as if finding it very hard to believe what had just befallen him:
"Me puedes tu creer a mi,..."Would you believe me when I tell you...."
Immediately she knew what was coming:
"Don't tell me! Something negative again-right? Tell me something, Hipolito, doesn't anything positive ever happen to you? I mean, I have never in my life seen a person to whom so many negative things happen one after the other. What is it this time? Huh?"
Whereupon my father ignored her comment and proceeded to very calmly describe his latest disaster.
"Well, I went to look for a job and the owner of the place kicked me in the shin." [ kick in the shin ="Una patada en la canilla." in Spanish] he said while slowly and carefully rolling up his right trouser-leg, and displaying the injury on his right shin. I remember that it was a small reddish indentation where the edge of a shoe had made contact with bone. As a small child, to me it was inconceivable that my father, who was a veritable giant to me, could suffer such an indignity. Of course, to others, he was a little fellow five feet three-inches tall and weighing approx. 135 pounds.
Well, after a brief glance at the injury, my mother began her customary probing investigation of the matter:
"Un momento! [Just a moment!] Let me get this straight." she said
"You went to a place to ask for employment, and when you asked for employment the person whom you asked responded by kicking you in the shin?" she stood staring at him suspiciously.
"This is not a joking matter. OK?" he responded with an extremely sad look on his face.
"No, I am not joking. You say you asked for a job, and was kicked in the shin? Right? Well, I just can't understand how someone could kick you in the shin just because you asked for a job. That's all! Explain that to me. I'm listening!"
"Well there is more..."
"Aha! There is more! Of course there is more. What is it that you did this time Hipolito? Tell me the whole story, not just a little part, you know, so I can understand. "
"Well, I went to an employment agency and they sent me to this place. I got there by taking the subway. It cost me 15 cents. [ 15 cents then was equivalent to $1.52 in 2021) When I finally arrived, I found the place was just a long dark hallway with old, musty mattresses leaning against the walls. At the end of the long hallway was this big, bald, Italian man built like a gorilla sitting behind this small desk under this light bulb that was dangling from the ceiling. I went up to him and told him I had been sent to work there by the employment agency."
"So that's when he kicked you in the shin?"
"This is not a joking matter OK!" my father repeated, feeling that she was trying to make a joke out of it.
"Don't get angry, chico! I am just trying to understand why he got up and kicked you in the shin just because you asked for a job!"
"You are not letting me finish!"
"OK then, finish Hipolito. Tell me exactly what happened!"
"Well, as I was saying! I told him that I had been sent--"
"You told me that already. Get to the point where he kicked you in the shin!" my mum said impatiently. Ignoring her he continued solemnly.
"I told him I had spent money getting there for a job he was supposed to have ready for me. He said he had no job for me. I asked him to compensate me for the money I spent traveling there and the money I needed to get back home."
"So that's when he kicked you in the shin?"
"No chica! Let me finish! Are you going to let me finish, or not? Huh?"
"Well, get to the point already. I have dinner to cook!" The mention of dinner, of course, did the trick, as she knew it would. After considering the dinner that was ready, my father now rapidly went to the crux of the matter.
"Well, when he refused to give me the money for travel-expenses, I made as if I was going to pull a knife by searching my pockets. That's when this other fellow, who was also built like a gorilla, and who had been standing silently behind me without me knowing it, got me in an arm lock from behind, and the guy from the desk kicked me in the shin! Then they pushed me out of the place. I was going to go back in, but this Puerto Rican fellow who was passing by the store told me not to because the owners were known to have connections with the Mafia"
"OK. So you made as if you were going to pull a knife on him, you just said?"
"Si!"
''Did you have a knife on you?" my mom responded calmly.
"No I didn't have a knife."
"Oh! So you made as if to pull a knife while having no knife to pull? Very intelligent! So that teaches you not to make as if you are going to pull a knife when you have no knife to pull! Also, what were you going to go back in for? To get massacred by two guys you just said were built like silverback gorillas?"
After his telling her that she was treating him in a cruel way by not showing compassion and her responding that she had no compassion for stupidity, the conversation was over and both walked away frustrated.
Well, several months later, after the case was taken to court, he came home with the same expression.
"Me puedes tu creer a mi... Would you believe what I am about to tell you?"
"What is it now Hipolito? They kicked you in the shin again?" my mom asked expecting yet another of his disastrous stories.
"You know that Puerto Rican lawyer I hired? He turned out to be their friend and was laughing with them and chatting after the trial. The judge asked me if I was there asking for the fifteen cents! Those sons of the great harlot!"
"Please! No more! Don't tell me anymore things that happen to you unless they are positive things. OK?" my mother asked and returned to what she had been doing. Well, her request didn't do any good since the stream of misadventures preceded by the same question continued unabated for the full 20 years of their marriage.
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"Me puedes tu creer a mi,..."Would you believe me when I tell you...."
That was the rhetorical question that my father always asked whenever something extremely unusual happened to him and he was about to describe it in full detail. Eventually, my mom became tired of hearing it because she knew that whatever was to follow it, was always something that my father had somehow managed to bring upon himself in some sort of illogical way. So after years of having patiently listened to the phrase: "Would you believe me if I tell you..." followed by a story in which he was always severely and unjustly victimized, her patience had finally reached its limit.
This time, my father had entered the apartment, but had remained standing silently and somberly in front of the apartment door as if profoundly contemplating what had just befallen him.
"Que te pasa Hipoilito?" "What's wrong Hipolito?" she asked him after waiting a reasonable amount of time for him to say something. After all, he usually asked about whether dinner was ready as soon as he arrived, so this was definitely something unusual.
In response to her question, he responded in an awed or amazed tone of voice as if finding it very hard to believe what had just befallen him:
"Me puedes tu creer a mi,..."Would you believe me when I tell you...."
Immediately she knew what was coming:
"Don't tell me! Something negative again-right? Tell me something, Hipolito, doesn't anything positive ever happen to you? I mean, I have never in my life seen a person to whom so many negative things happen one after the other. What is it this time? Huh?"
Whereupon my father ignored her comment and proceeded to very calmly describe his latest disaster.
"Well, I went to look for a job and the owner of the place kicked me in the shin." [ kick in the shin ="Una patada en la canilla." in Spanish] he said while slowly and carefully rolling up his right trouser-leg, and displaying the injury on his right shin. I remember that it was a small reddish indentation where the edge of a shoe had made contact with bone. As a small child, to me it was inconceivable that my father, who was a veritable giant to me, could suffer such an indignity. Of course, to others, he was a little fellow five feet three-inches tall and weighing approx. 135 pounds.
Well, after a brief glance at the injury, my mother began her customary probing investigation of the matter:
"Un momento! [Just a moment!] Let me get this straight." she said
"You went to a place to ask for employment, and when you asked for employment the person whom you asked responded by kicking you in the shin?" she stood staring at him suspiciously.
"This is not a joking matter. OK?" he responded with an extremely sad look on his face.
"No, I am not joking. You say you asked for a job, and was kicked in the shin? Right? Well, I just can't understand how someone could kick you in the shin just because you asked for a job. That's all! Explain that to me. I'm listening!"
"Well there is more..."
"Aha! There is more! Of course there is more. What is it that you did this time Hipolito? Tell me the whole story, not just a little part, you know, so I can understand. "
"Well, I went to an employment agency and they sent me to this place. I got there by taking the subway. It cost me 15 cents. [ 15 cents then was equivalent to $1.52 in 2021) When I finally arrived, I found the place was just a long dark hallway with old, musty mattresses leaning against the walls. At the end of the long hallway was this big, bald, Italian man built like a gorilla sitting behind this small desk under this light bulb that was dangling from the ceiling. I went up to him and told him I had been sent to work there by the employment agency."
"So that's when he kicked you in the shin?"
"This is not a joking matter OK!" my father repeated, feeling that she was trying to make a joke out of it.
"Don't get angry, chico! I am just trying to understand why he got up and kicked you in the shin just because you asked for a job!"
"You are not letting me finish!"
"OK then, finish Hipolito. Tell me exactly what happened!"
"Well, as I was saying! I told him that I had been sent--"
"You told me that already. Get to the point where he kicked you in the shin!" my mum said impatiently. Ignoring her he continued solemnly.
"I told him I had spent money getting there for a job he was supposed to have ready for me. He said he had no job for me. I asked him to compensate me for the money I spent traveling there and the money I needed to get back home."
"So that's when he kicked you in the shin?"
"No chica! Let me finish! Are you going to let me finish, or not? Huh?"
"Well, get to the point already. I have dinner to cook!" The mention of dinner, of course, did the trick, as she knew it would. After considering the dinner that was ready, my father now rapidly went to the crux of the matter.
"Well, when he refused to give me the money for travel-expenses, I made as if I was going to pull a knife by searching my pockets. That's when this other fellow, who was also built like a gorilla, and who had been standing silently behind me without me knowing it, got me in an arm lock from behind, and the guy from the desk kicked me in the shin! Then they pushed me out of the place. I was going to go back in, but this Puerto Rican fellow who was passing by the store told me not to because the owners were known to have connections with the Mafia"
"OK. So you made as if you were going to pull a knife on him, you just said?"
"Si!"
''Did you have a knife on you?" my mom responded calmly.
"No I didn't have a knife."
"Oh! So you made as if to pull a knife while having no knife to pull? Very intelligent! So that teaches you not to make as if you are going to pull a knife when you have no knife to pull! Also, what were you going to go back in for? To get massacred by two guys you just said were built like silverback gorillas?"
After his telling her that she was treating him in a cruel way by not showing compassion and her responding that she had no compassion for stupidity, the conversation was over and both walked away frustrated.
Well, several months later, after the case was taken to court, he came home with the same expression.
"Me puedes tu creer a mi... Would you believe what I am about to tell you?"
"What is it now Hipolito? They kicked you in the shin again?" my mom asked expecting yet another of his disastrous stories.
"You know that Puerto Rican lawyer I hired? He turned out to be their friend and was laughing with them and chatting after the trial. The judge asked me if I was there asking for the fifteen cents! Those sons of the great harlot!"
"Please! No more! Don't tell me anymore things that happen to you unless they are positive things. OK?" my mother asked and returned to what she had been doing. Well, her request didn't do any good since the stream of misadventures preceded by the same question continued unabated for the full 20 years of their marriage.
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$100 in 1951 is equivalent in purchasing power to about $1,141.53
Conversion: 1951 dollars today
Initial value Equivalent value
$1 dollar in 1951 = approx. $11.42 dollars today
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_City_transit_fares
Conversion: 1951 dollars today
Initial value Equivalent value
$1 dollar in 1951 = approx. $11.42 dollars today
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_City_transit_fares