You could never describe the years 
I spent working at the Getty Museum 
as boring.

Have you ever seen a credit card 
signed in Japanese, Korean or Chinese? 
Or seen a driver’s license 
from Vladivostok, Kazakhstan or Jakarta?
Or explained to a Japanese speaker 
the photo she wants to see is in storage?
Or showed off your Swedish, only to confuse
Goodbye and Hello?

Many days as the lone English speaker
at my cash register,
I became an expert at accents—
the one that stumped me was Belgian.
It’s not French and it’s not Dutch.

I enjoyed the challenge of interpreting 
the requests— I worked out
that the beautifully dressed Italian woman 
who asked for mark books, 
meant bookmarks, and not pens,
and the man looking for the garden tower
meant the garden tour,
but I couldn’t help the Filipino guy 
who said, Do you have a sitting room?

Are you looking for a place to eat lunch? I said.
No. I want a sitting room, he said
A sitting room? I said. 
No! he said. And repeated, Sitting room.
If you want to sit down, there are tables and chairs 
outside in the courtyard, I said.
No! his friend said pointing to the ground. 
Emphatically.
Ah, I said, You want a map of Los Angeles.
No! No! he said still pointing to the ground.
I’m so sorry, I said, I don’t understand.
I think they’re asking for a CD-ROM of the Museum, 
said a man standing in the line.
Yes! Yes! That’s what I’m wanting, he said, 
A sitting room!
                        

Do you work here? said an old lady,
Could you direct me to the Getty Museum? 
This is the Getty Museum. I said 
from behind my cash register.
Oh thank you, she said, 
Can I ask you another question?
Last time I was in Jerusalem I went on a walking tour 
and we saw two cemeteries. 
Can you explain the difference to me?