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George Clooney vs Italian[o]

May 9, 2013

“Do I speak Italian? Sure, I keep in shape. I mean, I couldn’t live there if I didn’t know some. The locals would flay me.” – George Clooney

The village near Como only ever had to deal with one American. And even though he only came for maybe two months of the year, they dealt okay. But when he did come…

George Clooney sat in his car outside the village shop and soaked up the scene. In any other country, he thought, this would be a piece of shit view…in Detroit? Miserable. In LA? Soulless. But here, in Como? Man, why didn’t they make me Italian?

He got out of the car and walked into the shop, confident.

‘Bonjourno!’ he said to the woman, who didn’t say anything back.

He picked up two bits of weird Italian bread and took them to the counter.

The woman said something he didn’t understand.

‘Sorry, sweetheart…’

Then he realized something…the crust.

‘Wait…can you…’

The woman said another load of words he didn’t know.

‘No…can you cut the crust off?’

She didn’t get it.

He picked up the bread and mimed a knife sawing at the crust. ‘The crust…this here…comprende?’

The woman grunted, took the bread, cut it in half and handed it back to him, saying a whole load extra in Italian.

George took the bread [with crusts] and turned his back on her, saying on the way out, ‘Yeah, clearly can’t understand a word you’re saying, sweetheart, but you keep having a good time there. Fucking wench.’

And two nights later he was back in LA.

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