If a man's identity has anything to do with his ability to communicate his opinions, call me John Doe.

I took a quick, three block stroll over to the nearest Pupuseria (griddled tortillas with goodness inside them) this evening to pick up dinner for myself and the two ladies I am working with. Having no intention of placing a complicated order, I went textbook, straight ticket revueltas (a combination of pork, beans, and cheese), seven of them. After fumbling through communicating that I wanted them to go, I took my ticket, number 35, and found a cozy brick archway to lean against for the time being, doing my best to conceal the blue and white striped umbrella I brought with me in case it rained.

"I took in my surroundings, and in between the blown transformer and random fireworks, plotted and scoped out the nearest wooden bench I would dive under in case of a genuine attack, even going so far as to hypothetically roundhouse a machine gun out of one of my assailants hands."

Before long, more than thirty minutes passed and all potential suspects had long thanked the host for their food and departed with their families, leaving me with a whole new lineup. The host noticed me, subtly trying to get his attention; not wanting to uncover my umbrella, yet notify him of my concern.

He came over several times, each time with an inquisitively apologetic look on his face, internalizing my order number and shaking his head confidently, like he had everything under wraps. And yet the food never came, and he continued to stop by, and ask me questions. I was tired, and grew more so with the fact that I couldn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth, with explaining for the seventh time that I speak very little Spanish, and with the fact that even if I wanted to, there was no way to communicate what it was I wanted. So I began to blanket respond to every question with, "Si."

In hindsight, I realize that more than likely, each of his questions went something more like this...

"We just served a lady with an order number 16 higher than yours, did you notice that sir?"

"There's no way on earth that it should take an hour to prepare seven pupusas, were you aware of that sir?"

"The dish-washers and I just snack-timed on your entire order, are you cool with that sir?"

My food did arrive, and it was incredible.

I love El Salvador, and am constantly reminded of the often impossibility in communicating my opinions, or what it is that I want...a reality I wish I learned years ago.