Catalogue Coordination Manager: The print deadline is this Friday, how are we doing?
Senior Graphic Designer: Well, the images are all prepped and templated, but final text is waiting for your approval and has to go to the printers tomorrow.
CCM: Have you run the new collection names past the translation agency?
SGD: No, we're already over budget for the catalogue, we'll have to do it in-house this time. It's only the duty free magazine in any case, and we used last year's copy for the basic translations.
CCM: That sounds reasonable, leave the text on my desk and I'll proof it and get it back to you by close of business.
SGD: Great, thanks.
01.07.2009: Seat 7A - Flight TP387 from London Heathrow to Porto
I can barely contain my annoyance at having had my holiday enthusiasm deflated by a two-hour delay to our flight. I need a pacifier or there will soon be a hail of toys flying out of my pram, I need to find something to occupy myself fast. But what? Two carefully selected holiday books are gleefully gathering dust, lying forgotten on my office desk, my iPod has taken a vow of uncharged silence and dinner is half an hour away.
Faced with no viable alternative to alleviate my frustration, I reach for the in-flight entertainment world's equivalent of a full frontal lobotomy: the duty free magazine. Indeed, no sooner have I contemptuously flicked the first three pages than my brain commits itself to instant hibernation, pausing just briefly enough to wonder how on earth 102 pages of cosmetics, perfume, chocolate, alcohol and tobacco can be crammed into the narrow trolley that the cabin crew are wheeling down the aisle.
As I flick through the latest products from the houses of haute couture and smelly scents, I gradually sense my cerebral activity beginning to flatline when
WHACK!
It hits me like a sledgehammer, I can barely understand and my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
Successive waves of shock, disbelief, surprise and finally elation wash over me. There it is, right before me: the Holy Grail of inter-linguistic double entendres. I am gobsmacked, both figuratively and literally as I clasp my hand to my shocked mouth so fast that I nearly knock my front teeth clean out.
I turn to show Sarah the source of my side-splitting comedy histrionics but can utter no words as I am still in the delicious ecstacy of pure and unexpected laughter. It is all I can do to hand over the magazine and reveal the full glory that is:
Go on! Do it, laugh out loud! Let rip your snorts, guffaws and sniggers. Marvel at the unfortunate shape of this fine piece of jewellry and then read the fine print for further puerile gratification (hint: a 'ç' is pronounced 'ss'). Most of you will have by now closed this window and moved on to more serious business*, but for those of you who appreciate infantile humour as much as I do, please click here for an extra dollop of cheap entertainment.
€55,00 it may well cost, but in reality it is priceless...
* Except for you, Brooks, I know where you are reading this and this one's dedicated to you.
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4 comments:
Didn't the english translator notice something amiss? Or was he humour devoid? It reminds me, I once saw a Mexican burger package called "Shit" with a huge picture of burger in the background. Did no-one at the factory speak English? Or even recognise our expletives?
But as for the in flight entaertainment:
"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy"
Ooh, I like the Anel Bom-drop. Sounds like a wrestling move to me.
Will look for these at SuperTarget and WallySupercentre.....
Anel juicy dance.... I have no words, the words have left me. There is only laughter.
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