Lunch

Lunch at work is hilarious. It goes something like this.

Co-workers: “Alex, where do you have the pleasure of eating today?”

We have two options. The Tesco food court or the Kika food court. They are exactly the same. Although I would prefer to stay away from Kika in case the aforementioned crazy flower lady recognizes me. But I do not tell them that. I am fearless.

Me: “Wherever you guys want!”

The five us get in my car, the only automatic automobile in the country, and head out.

Co-worker 1: “Mhmmmm…I am in the mood for pancakes.”

Me: “Shut-up, Balazs! I am not going to turn us all into pancakes!”

My co-workers refuse to tell me about Hungry-specific driving rules until I break one of them, and then they laugh.

Co-worker 1: “Don’t worry about it, Hungary has great disability benefits.”

We are finishing lunch in the food court.

Co-worker 3 (getting out of her chair): “I need to have a hyper-quick shopping. Let’s meet at the postal [office] at 1 PM.”

Me (rising also): “Me too. I need to pick up [some totally random item which I thought I bought yesterday and didn’t realize until I got home that it was not all what I wanted].”

Co-worker 2: “Puszi, Alexandra! You need to learn how to speak Hungarian.”

Puszi is a common salutation meaning “kisses.” It is pronounced “pussy.”

Me: “Balazs, I will not say that.”

Co-worker 3 (genuine): “Why not?”

Co-worker 2 (not genuine): “Yeah, why not Alexandra?”

Co-worker 4 (genuine): “Why don’t you like puszi, Alexandra?”

Co-worker 5 says nothing. She doesn’t speak English. Or at least that’s what she wants me to think.

Jesus Christ.

Me: “Puszi, friends! Meet you at 1!”