This takes me back to 1997 when we were about to go to Madrid. I had recently bought a new shirt and decided to have it printed. Now many people put the name of their favourite player on the back; others their own name or the place they live. I decided to do the latter but to do it in Spanish albeit the translation of the two bits of bread with jamon or queso inserted therein rather than the small town in East Kent.
"No problem", said the club shop and duly attached the B, O, C, A, D, I, L, L, O and the numbers 9 and 7 to the back of the shirt. But then suddenly, a supervisor decided, "Yes problem" and rudely demanded to know what it meant. Her attitude didn't go down well with me and I replied that I honestly had no idea what it meant and that I had simply decided on a selection of letters which looked as though they might be a Spanish word. Well this really set her off and she declared that it was undoubtedly an offensive Spanish word and that was likely to cause trouble when the buses arrived on Spain - yes, the buses, remember the buses?
I felt it only right to raise the stakes by telling her that it couldn't possibly cause a problem when the buses arrived in Spain because I was flying out with EasyJet from Gatwick. This was a little like red rag to a bull and I was suddenly faced with the supervisor's supervisor who asserted that that was not allowed and furthermore I couldn't have the shirt.
Now you may remember that the shirt was already mine and fortunately already had the sweat stains from previous outings, so the supervisor's supervisor had a problem and he quickly realised it. His preferred solution was to refund me on the shirt; I declined his offer.
Nowadays of course some clever ****er would just get out his smart phone and ask Google what bocadillo means, but in those days an even cleverer ****er who worked in the shop rang his girlfriend or mother, I forget exactly who it was, who knew a bit of Spanish and told the supervisor and the supervisor's supervisor that it simply meant a sandwich. I of course took the news by surprise and declared my incredulity that I actually lived in Sandwich and what a coincidence it was, etc. I thought I was about to be banned from the club shop but I was simply told to pick up my shirt and go. I did so immediately.