“While you were gone for coffee a guy named Marciano stopped by looking for you,” Sherry said.
“Marciano Uk? He’s a little Mayan fellow who used to work for me as a caretaker and handyman ten years ago. He’s a great guy.”
“Well, he doesn’t speak very good English.”
“His English is about as good as my Spanish,” I told her. “We speak in a mix of the two that people call Spanglish.”
“He wants to meet you for a beer at around five o’clock.”
I was at the bar waiting when Marciano came in. We talked over old times and caught up on new ones.
The owner of the bar brought us our drinks and Marciano asked, “Where is Julio? He worked bartending here long as I remember.”
“Julio got a little too big for his britches and I fired him last week,” the owner said.
After the owner moved down the bar Marciano asked me, “What’s britches?”
“In English, britches are pants,” I said. “When someone starts feeling like they are really important, people say he is getting too big for his britches.”
“Oh.”
I ordered another round and a man came into the bar and sat on a stool next to Marciano. No bartender was in sight.
Finally the man asked Marciano, “Where is Julio?”
“He’s not here,” Marciano said. “He got fired.”
“What? He’s been here for twelve years. Why did they fire him?”
“His pants was too small.”
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