My
father actually manages to translate this
effect into an even more ridiculous set of parameters. When in a
foreign country, if he knows a couple words (you know, enough to order food and ask where all the neat attractions were), he will actually speak
those to the
natives, ie, their
native language. I have an unforgettable image of him in a small resturant during our last trip to
Italy, ordering
spaghetti, and when the waiter didn't fully hear him,
over-enunciating to the point of grimacing and, replete with
hand gestures, saying slowly with a look one might give to an infant,
"Spaghetti... I'd like some Spa - ghett - ee"
Turns out the waiter spoke English like a motherfucker, too.
And then there's the time that he made his eyes into slits and starting loudly speaking in mock-Chinese while in the middle of a Chinese resturant. Weird old racist, that dad.