ProBiz Partners Blog

What do a senator, a Ferry mogul, and a stand-up comic have in common? Me. Oddly enough, me. This week I had yet another unexpected VIP experience.

Our friend, Nelson (good Spanish name, no?) invited us to go see a rising star comic in a local club. But we arrived to find that the club owner had failed to properly advertise the date, so the 4 of us were the only ones in the audience. Nelson, though, had met the comic, Luis Miguel (Luismi) so he struck up a conversation.

Next thing I know, Luismi is at our table, chuckling at his recently acquired “star” status. “Hmm… I do stand-up comedy, but I’ve never done ‘table comedy’ before.” He smiles and pullls up a bar stool.

I brace myself. Trying to follow rapid-fire Spanish in a noisy place is no small challenge. Trying to understand jokes — in Spanish — that frequently hinge on cultural references is pretty much impossible.

“I love the gestures that girls make when they’re brushing a guy off.” Luismi says. Then he whips off an impressive simulation of a hip-hop American girl doing that walk-like-an-egyptian head bobble and popping her wrist around to form a solid “STOP” gesture. In perfect English, and with a scarily accurate tough girl accent he says “Uh-uh…. Talk to the HAND!” Everybody at the table about fell over laughing. So much for missing the cultural jokes.

Everyone joined in an animated conversation, swapping stories and jokes and asking Luismi about his rise to stardom. It was fascinating and fun. And I got so lost in what everyone was saying that I totally forgot that I was in a typically-uncomfortable situation where I didn’t understand what was going on.

After a couple of hours of sit-down comedy Luismi announced that he was hungry, and had we eaten? So we went with him to a little pizza place next door to the club and whiled away even more hours, enjoying our own private star. When it was finally time to say goodnight Luismi insisted on buying our dinner. And in true Spanish fashion, I think I neglected to say “thanks.”

So, Thank You, Luismi! Your “Yankee” fan will follow your career and send you good vibes. You deserve the success that you’re experiencing. Un abrazo, Denise

P.S. Luismi, I’ll pay good money if you’ll resist the temptation to include me and my friends in your next monologue.

When our son was little his favorite super hero was He-Man. Our miniature He-Man loved to run around the house with his plastic sword in the air yelling “I HAF Da POWAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! He thought he was pretty hot stuff.

I thought of him as I sat in the airport in London and realized that for the first time ever I had left home WITHOUT the power! I have a trusty power converter that has been in my “I can pack and get out the door in 1 hour” bag for years. But not this time. Somehow I had managed to leave it behind. I groaned as I remembered the smell of burning plastic in China when I plugged in a new power converter - to my laptop - and there was smoke and sparks! I’ve never again trusted any other power converter with my precious electronics than the one that was sitting on the shelf at home — 5,000 miles away.

I started the search in an airport luggage shop. SURELY in England they would have converters that would work with US electronics. But no, the shop girl was very clear “These are just plug changers. They are NOT current converters!” Uh-oh. If not in England, the chances of finding one in Spain were not good.

As soon as we landed I explained that my first priority was finding a power converter. My friends laughed; my typical first request is to get to the nearest tapas bar. Not this time. If I couldn’t find a power converter I was dead in the water.

We stopped in Alicante at two electrical stores (in Spain most types of consumer products are still sold in specialty shops). In the first store, the proprietor was calmly chatting with the only other customer as I impatiently tapped my foot (good American that I am). After 15 minutes I gave up and went back to the car. In the second shop they shrugged apologetically and told me that they only had the plug-in changer thing-y. No power converters.

Now I’m getting nervous. Maybe this was an even bigger screw-up than I realized. When we got back to the apartment I used my friend’s computer to do a quick search. I could order a converter from Amazon UK and pay for it in British pounds, which is now double the cost of American dollars — so about $100 — AND wait for at least a week for it to arrive. Or I could keep looking.

One friend called another who called another and we were directed to the best little electrical shop in Dénia. The shop owner nodded and assured me he had the solution. He handed me a heavy gizmo that looked like a piece off of a power station, and then an adaptor that goes with it. For a more $25 I walked away, totally freaked out that I was going to blow up my laptop with this Frankenstein contraption.

When we arrived at the apartment I went straight for the “office” and set everything up. I held my breath as I realized that — ta-da!! — the damn plug-in didn’t fit the plug-in in the apartment! My friend grinned, handed me a glass of wine, and disappeared to dig in her junk drawer. She returned with a Spain-to-Spain plug converter. Now I’m REALLY worried. How many pieces-parts does it take to replace my wonderful little travel converter? I’m practically hysterical.

I close my eyes and hand the plug to my husband. “You do it. I can’t bear to look.” So he did, and I waited for that nauseating smell. But nothing happened other than my laptop buzzing to life. I took a gulp of my wine and vowed to never let my little travel converter out of my sight again.

Ah, but that’s not the end of the story. I decided I needed to have a back-up converter, so I renewed my internet search. As I hunted I thought “You know, I wonder why so many shops sell plug changers instead of power converters — that’s awfully dangerous to the electronics of foreigners. Why would they sell those things?” Suddenly a little voice in the back of my head started giggling quietly. “You know what? You’re gonna feel REALLY STUPID if it turns out that those $2 plug-in changers are all you really need!”

“NOOOO!!! Shut up! That’s not possible! What about China?”

“But we’re not IN China! This is Europe. I think you need to check this out.”

OK, ok, so I checked it out. Five minutes of research on the internet revealed my worst fear / fondest hope. Almost ALL American electronics are capable of working on European voltage. All you really need is a stupid $2 plug changer. Just shoot me.

In keeping with the Spanish tradition of lazy Sundays, I’m being a bum. Instead of writing a new blog, check out the one that I just posted on our Boomer Babe Web Marketing blog.

Hopefully it will give you a laugh. And maybe even a little food for thought.

Now get out there and do NOTHING today!

Spain is not a litigious society. Not yet. The first time I came here it took me about 15 minutes to figure out that I better watch where the heck I was stepping. There could be a gapinig hole in the sidewalk, a banana peel, or dog poo. Better yet, construction sites practically have a “Welcome!” sign on the outside. We walk right through them all the time. I’ve learned to walk with one eye constantly scanning for hazards.

For my husband, it’s a particularly big challenge. It’s not that he’s clumsy, he’s just so busy looking around for photo ops that he pretty much NEVER watches where he’s going. A couple of days ago I saw a little girl about 2 walking with her papa. She was gazing at the stars, waving at the passing scooters, and suddenly WHAM! She walked right into the side of a big trash dumpster. When she picked herself up and smiled, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Then I flashed on two thoughts: 1) That’s exactly what my honey looks like when he’s walking around in Spain (and yes, he has nearly fallen several times); and 2) If that had happened in the US an enraged parent would have raced into the store demanding to know why that damn trash can was out in the middle of the sidewalk — and what is your attorney’s name and number?

Spaniards are practical. They figure that if you’re dumb enough to step in a hole, or dog poop, it’s your own dang fault. And besides, I always wanted to see what the inside of a giant crane looked like anyway.