Yeah, yeah I thought to myself as the woman babbled on in Hungarian. Finally she stopped for breath and I was able to edge in a quick "Sorry, I don't speak Hungarian."
I was poised to hang up as my lack of linguistic skills did not seem to defer her pitch in the least when Levi, my eleven year old came scampering down the stairs.
"Hey Levi," I said. "Can you find out what this lady wants?"
It was a clever ploy: the proverbial "killing two birds with one stone." Not only would this occupy Levi so that I could get dinner completed, I also considered it a service to society at large to keep the telemarketer occupied so she could not interrupt any other unsuspecting family's peaceful evening.
I began listening to the conversation and was able to make out most of the Hungarian. It was like a delightful demonstration in how to torment a telemarketer. It went something like this:
Levi: Hello, I am Levi. I can translate.
Telemarketer: (begins schpeel).
Levi: One moment, I will translate for my mom. (Levi explains to me with great excitement the amazing deal.)
Telemarketer: So your mom's not Hungarian.
Levi: No, she's American.
Telemarketer: Well, you speak very good Hungarian.
Levi: I am Hungarian.
Telemarketer: (clearly confused) Maybe I should wait and talk to your dad.
Levi: My dad does not speak Hungarian.
Telemarketer: You mean, he is not Hungarian?
Levi: No, of course not. He's Chinese and American.
Telemarketer: But you are Hungarian?
Levi: (very matter-of-factly) Yes, of course.
I happily completed preparation of the evening meal, smugly satisfied that my son had left the T-mobile telemarketer confounded and speechless.
