The Fig

In 1994, when I was a Junior in college, I went to study abroad in Florence and Paris. During my first weeks in Italy, I attended an immersion program in Siena, since I did not speak Italian. Within a few weeks, I could get by passably, if a bit clumsily. By the time I got to Florence, I felt reasonably confident that I could make myself understood. I was feeling competent enough to do some shopping. Stopping at a greengrocer’s stall, I saw some fresh, dark purple figs. In my Italian class, we had learned the words for many fruits and vegetables. Vaguely, I remembered that some were female and some male, but that just didn’t seem too important in practicality. I figured the greengrocer would understand me well enough. Upon seeing those juicy looking figs, I greeted him with a, “buon giorno signore,” and told him confidently, “vorrei una fica per favore.” This statement was met with wide eyes and a wicked smile. He cocked his head and asked, “come?” I was confused, I had clearly and politely asked for a fig. So, I pointed to the best looking one and said again, louder, “Vorrei questa fica per favore!” His smile grew and he waggled his index finger at me saying, “Signorina, noooo-o” Now I was getting irritated. Did he not want to sell me a fig? Why not? I tried again with more force and thought, I’ll stop saying I would like one and switch to I WANT ONE! So I did, saying even louder “Voglio questa fica qui! (I want this one here!)” pointing imperiously at the fig in question. Then he guffawed loudly. At this point I was so annoyed and embarrassed. I thought, “this is just what everyone said it would be like, people pretending not to understand me!” Then it dawned on me, that vague lesson on figs, especially figs… Oh God, yes, I just did exactly what I was warned not to do. A fig, in Italian, is un fico, una fica is a vagina, and not just a vagina, but a p***y... Mortification spread over me in a wave as the greengrocer chokingly asked me, “Why aren’t you happy with the one you already have?”