Bulgarian Bartender Story (2 of 3): Bulgarian at a southern gas station.

Later, we were talking about the American south, and I said I hated it, and she said she liked it for the most part, except for one experience.

"I was driving back from Florida and I was in Kentucky or Tennessee, somewhere like that," she was like.

"I was at a gas station and I was talking on my cell phone with my mother, and then this old man, a white man with a beard, you know, a hillbilly, says to me, 'Excuse me, but we speak English in this country.'  I could barely understand him, because of his accent, but I listen and understand, and I say, 'Excuse me, but the last time that I knew, the United States has no national language.  And, I am talking on the phone, so you are very rude.'"

"Good for you," I was like.

"I am a person like that," she was like.  "You are nice, I am nice, you step on my feet, I step on your feet."

At that I nodded, and she continued on, "He looks like this" - and she mugged and made the guy's head go back and his eyes open up - "And he says, 'Pardon me, but I did not understand you', so I say, "Fuck you."  He did not say anything, so I say, "Fuck you, did you hear me, do you understand that?'".

"Good for you," I was like.

Then she said that she continued to talk on the phone with her mother, paid up for the gas, and left.