the word of the day is FURBA.

FURBO. No, not the cute little alien-eyed talking toy, Furbie!! The adjective that defines a key to survival in Italy. To get by, you need to be seriously furbo. If you're passive, you're not going to get through a crowd, you're not going to win an argument with the Tabacchi shop guy (although the consequences of being passive are not a matter of geographics). If you're passive-aggressive, you might win the argument but you certainly won't get as much respect if you are seriously fiducioso and furbo. You need to be assertive, you need some serious confidence, self-assurance and cleverness to get any respect and dignity. I was starting to feel helpless...they responded to me in english, they cut me in line or push me off the sidewalk, they stared me up and down. For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why the Italians* wouldn't change their attitude with me.

Then I realized that I had to change my attitude with them.

I started to pick up on what gives the Italians that extra kick of energy and assertiveness (strong horsepower fuel called Italian espresso two times daily), what gives the young and old the assertive confidence in any situation (causing them to use the "umbrella gesture" or some parolacce), and the ability to be unashamedly confrontational.

Today I took the preparatory steps to becoming furbo that an Italian would take on any given morning. I had a cappuccino and a corneto integrale on via Gioberti. I walked fast and in the middle on the road so confidently that no bike or three-wheeled truck dared to honk me out of the way. I spoke with my best accento fiorentino and self-assurance. I was assertive when making purchases--I wanted a discount for purchasing more than one item or I wouldn't buy it.

And then I got to the Post Office centrale near Piazza Repubblica and I was running late for my lunch in Gavinana outside of town. Come al solito. I pulled a ticket for 142, when the customer being served at the window was at 114. Porca miseria!. So I did some quick calculations. I could look at the flower market under the arches around the Poste, and then make a quick visit to the Smith College sede in Piazza Signoria before my number was called.

I tend to talk too much and lose track of time. I did exactly that with my former study-abroad coordinator. I got back to the Poste and the board beeped a 149. Oddio, che palle!!!

I knew there was only one solution to avoid waiting for my new number, 174. I needed to be furba. I needed to be confident and very convincing.

The number 151 came up. The post officer waited, looked around, finger on the button for the next number. I vecchietti in line looked at their numbers and sighed, so I made a mad dash to the desk.

Che numero hai? she wanted to make sure I was number 151.
Ah, well I have 142, but I was outside and customer 151 has left the poste office, I said in a whisper as to not draw angry glares from the crowd of customers.

And in two minutes, I paid and ran to the bus. Menomale!

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Now the Disclaimer: So if you want to have any success at being furba, you need lots of sleep, siesta's and caffe'. My good friend M forgot those key steps but was saved by her innate furba-ness. She had to talk her way out of a 50 euro fine to the bus-ticket controllers, for having ripped a 4-way paper ticket in half, which was unstamped because it was too short at that point to fit in the machine. She later made the mistake of misreading a Eurostar sign on a train and got on with a regular priced ticket, and the ticket controller kicked her off. Two trains later, she found herself on another Eurostar (she had no money to buy a higher-priced ticket) that afternoon so she decided to be fake being deaf. But she was a bit sfortunata, because it was the SAME ticket controller! Despite being sleep deprived, despite having forgotten a crucial espresso before her nine-hour ride from Vienna to Modena, she was naturally furba and talked herself out of being arrested.

So if you are not my friend, M, and not prepared to be furba, don't even try it because it's exhausting...comunque, you should prep yourself first before you take on the challenges of being tricky, or else you might find yourself in a tricky situation!

*not my friends or acquaintances, but those Italians who see my cappelli biondi and put me in the outsider category subito so they can stereotype and undermine me