The Most Embarrasing, Horrible, F***ing Cultural Faux Pas I Ever Made.
Sooner or later, it happens. Accept it. It's how you recover that matters.
The auditorium was packed. From where I was standing backstage, it looked like about 500+ people had been invited by my client to attend my keynote presentation on managing global teams, and I was pumped and ready to go. I remember feeling thrilled to be in Mexico City again, one of my favorite cities, and was enjoying the adrenalin rush just before going on-stage. I gave myself a final mental reminder to adapt my presentation style to the realities of the language difference: I was presenting in English, to an audience of Spanish speakers, so “remember, slow down, Dean”, I said to myself, “speak clearly and simply, no slang and colloquial expressions…”, etc. I’ve done this a million times before, and each time I speak to a non-native English-speaking audience that has made the effort to listen to me in English (because I certainly could not present in their first language), I am humbled and grateful. “Make a point of thanking everyone for doing so”, I reminded myself. The curtains parted, lights came up, and I stepped forward.
“Thank you, gracias, thank you all for coming to my talk today, and I promise you that we are about to go on a global adventure, an exploration of the world’s great cultures, in order to discover how to think in different ways, see things through different eyes, and experiment with new solutions to old problems that we may never have even thought of! Before we get started, I do want to thank all of you for allowing me to present in my first language, English, for, unfortunately, my Spanish is not very good. As many of you can probably tell by my accent, I come from New York City, where even the Spanglish is different, so I promise to speak as clearly as I can.
“And I also want to thank my dear colleague, Señor Peña, for inviting me to speak with all of you today…. “
And that’s when I realized that something awful had just happened, and that I must have done it. An eerie silence came over the entire auditorium, and most of the people in the front few rows that I could see from the stage were looking at each other somewhat aghast. A few of them had their hands over their mouths, some began giggling uncontrollably, and a few were craning their necks to look at Señor Pena, off to the side, whose eyebrows, at this point, were creeping up to his hairline, and whose jaw had dropped open like a broken hinge.
“Señor Peña, thank you for your kind invitation!”, I continued, apparently only making the situation worse. Several guys in the corner convulsed in laughter, slapping each other on the back. A few women had pursed their lips and closed their eyes. Some looked away as I spoke. At this point, I thought it best to pause for a moment and try to figure out what was going on.
“Wow, can someone tell me what just happened in here?” I said with a weak smile on my face. The room exploded with uncontrolled laughter. An aide walked out to me from the side of the stage and whispered in my ear. And as I slowly put my hands over my eyes and lowered my head, the entire assembly rolled hysterically in the aisles.
My apology for my bad Spanish could not have been timed better, for as I just learned from the aide, I had just called my sponsor, my client, the man who organized this event, “Mr. Penis”. Not once. Not twice, but several times. Given my pathetic Spanish, ignoring the tilde (~) over the “N” in his name, I mispronounced “Sr Peña” as “Sr Pene”, quite literally turning him into “Señor Penis”.
Now, I am an interculturalist whose job it is to know enough about cultures to accurately explain them to those who do not; to help make sense of behaviors, traditions, beliefs, etc., that are not our own, and to do so with a respect for cultures that may challenge us, sometimes profoundly. I understand that, as such, there is the legitimate presumption by those who come to my talks and who read my books, that, as the “professional”, they can depend on me to know more about cultures than the average person on the street. Fair enough, and, honestly, I really do work very hard at trying to always be the absolutely, positively most informed person on all things cultural that you will ever run into. That’s my job. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had my share of personally embarrassing cultural faux pas, where even I missed something that I admittedly should have known but nevertheless didn’t (especially if it has to do with languages I am not fluent in). The world is a very big place, and although most of the time I probably have had more experiences with cultural differences than anyone else in the room, I will also be the first to admit that there are always things I still do not know. Not to mention that cultures are always changing, so just when you’ve reached that professional apex, look down, cause you probably need to start all over again. Sad fact, but being human and not a bot, sooner or later, that hole in my cultural knowledge bank will inevitably and eventually trip me up, as it did that day in Mexico City. It’s just a matter of time.
So what have I learned about what to do after you’ve slipped off the cultural cliff?
Admit it. Apologize if your mistake inadvertently hurt anyone’s feelings. Then thank them for teaching you something that you, as an outsider, didn’t know before about their culture. This is a good golden rule that anyone can apply. Most people understand it is impossible to know all there is to know about their culture from the outside, and that they can easily make a similar mistake if they were in your culture. You will be forgiven. You will not be forgiven, however, if, once you know, you choose to ignore it.
“Aye, aye, aye”, I cried out to the audience, making direct eye contact with Sr. Peña. “Lo siento!, I am so sorry my Spanish is so bad! Can you forgive me, Sr Peña? I hope so”, putting my hand over my heart. He smiled earnestly, several people shouted out to me that they really enjoyed the laugh, someone else kindly tried to save my face by assuring me no offense was taken, and before I knew it, we were back on track.
But that wasn’t the worst, most horrible cultural mistake I’ve ever made. Maybe publicly calling Sr Peña, “Señor Penis” was pretty bad, but it wasn’t as bad as what happened at my keynote in New Zealand.
Awkward in Auckland
New Zealand’s “real” name is Aotearoa, and that tells you a lot about the cultural …
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