I Don’t Know Jack

While living in Moscow, Russia, I was once hired to interpret a blind date between a Russian woman and a British man visiting the country that was set up by their mutual friends. I was just starting my career as a linguist, so that was supposed to be good practice for me. It was still that time before all the smartphones, and I felt weird bringing a huge dictionary to a restaurant, so I was just hoping my skills and vocabulary would be enough.

The task seemed awkward at first, but they both turned out to be lovely people, trying to find out as much as possible about each other, without speaking each other’s language.

It was all going well; the discussion was pleasant and light-hearted, and at some point the girl took me to the ladies room for questioning. “What do you think of him? Do I behave appropriately? What other questions should I ask and not seem like I am too curious or overly pragmatic? I don’t want him to think poorly of me from the get-go…”

I reassured her that the conversation was going smoothly. “How do I find out about his living conditions? I can’t just ask him to describe his house.” “Maybe just inquire whether he lives alone?” I suggested. “That will definitely lead to a more detailed description.”

She followed my advice, and the gentleman’s face lit up. “Oh no, not quite alone. I live with my Jack Russell. He’s a lovely chap, except he occasionally poops in my sitting room’s corner. Otherwise, we get along just fine.”

The phrase wasn’t even that long or complicated, but so many questions popped up in my head right away. Who is that mysterious Jack Russell? Is that a relative? Is it his boyfriend, since he referred to him as “my”, but then why is he here on a date with a lady, especially in another country? And also, why on Earth would that Jack take a dump in a room? Maybe it’s a baby? But what would baby mama say about all this?

While mulling over all the ideas in my head, I, however, interpreted the sentence, just to keep the conversation flowing and not sound unprofessional. It must have been shocking for the poor girl, because her eyes almost popped out of her head and she even dropped her fork on the floor.

“Wow. Not only he has a roommate, but that guy is also gross and filthy. Just wow... But don’t interpret that for now... I am lost form words!” she whispered in my ear, while picking it up. I don’t know why she even had to whisper but she must have been as stunned as I was.

We both stared at each in confusion, while our Englishman wondered what could have gone wrong. “Is everything ok, ladies? Did I say something stupid?” “No, no, no,” I thought to myself. “Something is not right. I have to clarify this.”

“Excuse me. Who is that Jack Russell? Is it your older relative, a partner, a roommate, or your son?” I blurted out.

The potential boyfriend burst out laughing and couldn’t stop for a while. He even had to put his glass of wine back on the table and wipe his tears with a napkin.

“You just made my day!” he suddenly exclaimed, still wiping his eyes. “Jack Russell is a dog. And I absolutely love talking about him. In fact, his name is Tony, and I hope Natalya will love him, if they ever get to meet.”

And with these words, he produced his wallet, and took out a picture of a cute puppy with floppy ears...