My last experience in New York.

I asked this lady at the airport if I could use her phone because I just realized I'd left mine inside the Super Shuttle that had dropped me off. She asked a woman standing next to her -- her friend, I'm guessing -- what I'd just said to her, then she looked back at me and nodded and handed me her phone.

Predictably, when I called Super Shuttle and filled the operator in on my predicament, I was placed on hold for about five minutes. The lady was justifiably becoming annoyed by this. She was waiting in a long line with me to check in our luggage, so she wasn't going anywhere, but of course it's an uneasy feeling when a stranger who's asked to use your phone ends up using the phone for more than 20 seconds.

She began cursing in a foreign language. I can't be sure if she was cursing, actually, but the sharpness of the words made them sound like F bombs. She stuck her hand out by my right ear, where I'd placed her phone, and began forcing out those sharp words again. She was looking straight at me now. I put my hand up to let her know that it would only be a little while longer, I was waiting for the operator to let me know that he'd gotten a hold of the shuttle driver. But she wasn't having any of it.

Or was she?

This is what she started saying to me: "No, no. It's okayyyyy. It's okayyyyyy."

I relaxed a bit after she said this, thinking everything was okayyyyyy. But then she grabbed my arm.

"Ma'am, I'm really sorry. It'll only be another minute. I'd really, really appreciate it," I said.

She repeated her words, only more sharply: "No, no. It's okayyyyyy. It's okayyyyyy."

I was confused and desperate, and the only thing comforting me was the sound of an REO Speedwagon song on the other line. I soon realized that the lady didn't really mean to tell me that it was okayyyyyy for me to use her phone, because she began squeezing my arm. Her nails dug into my bicep.

"Wait, didn't you just say it was okay?"

She looked pissed. "No, no, noooo. It's okayyyy. It's okayyyy."

She snatched the phone away from me and turned to her friend and began cursing those sharp curse words again.

I finally put the pieces together and realized that the lady couldn't speak English. She didn't mean it's okayyyyy. She meant get the hell off the phone, you little son of a bitch. Apparently in her native tongue, approval, strictly translated, is a negative thing.

I wish I could attach some significance to this experience, being that it was my last in New York. But really, the only connection I can make is that a foreigner who couldn't speak English was yelling at me in broken words. That happened to me a lot on cab rides home on Friday nights.