Summary

The narrative recounts a humorous and educational moment from a 1975 brokerage training class at Ronson & Co., where the author, after struggling with Spanish for years, mistakenly enters the women's restroom at a Mexican restaurant, leading to an embarrassing encounter with his classmate, Priscilla Palmer.

Abstract

In 1975, at Ronson & Co., a diverse training class for brokers included the firm's first female trainee, Priscilla Palmer. Despite the author's extensive study of Spanish, he remained unable to speak the language fluently. During a lunch break at a new Mexican restaurant, El Toro, the author's linguistic shortcomings led to an embarrassing mix-up when he misinterpreted the Spanish-labeled restroom signs, walking in on Priscilla. The incident, while mortifying, did not affect their professional relationship, as Priscilla went on to become one of the most successful brokers in her class, and the author learned a valuable lesson about checking restroom door locks.

Opinions

The author acknowledges the growing recognition of women's potential in the investment field during the 1970s.
The author reflects on the personal challenge of learning a new language, despite significant effort and time investment.
The special treatment received by the training class at El Toro highlights the importance of good customer relations for new businesses.
Priscilla's acceptance and subsequent success in a male-dominated field demonstrate the author's respect for her abilities.
The author's self-deprecating humor suggests a light-hearted perspective on his own language limitations and the embarrassing restroom incident.
The author implies that certain life lessons, such as the importance of privacy in public restrooms, are as valuable as formal education and professional qualifications like the Series

Another Reason For A Universal Language

What can you possibly do when your attractive new business associate sees your inner self, and you are rendered speechless and vulnerable?

I’d like to establish two things.

The 1975 training class at the Philadelphia brokerage firm, Ronson & Co contained 10 aspiring brokers. It was when investment firms were just discovering women could be incredibly successful in the field. Therefore, Ronson & Co. had its first woman broker in training along with the 9 men that were in the class. Her name was Priscilla Palmer.*

I took Spanish for 7 semesters in junior high, high school, and college. You’d think I’d be fluent in the language.

I’m not.

Because of my difficulty with languages other than English, my studies included the first year 3 1/2 times.

I was just able to scrape by the language requirement in college with a low C. I remained throughout, to this day, unscathed by the ability to speak Spanish.

You, the reader, maybe thinking by now:

How can those 2 divergent topics possibly blend into a story that I should waste 4 minutes of my time reading?

Please — stick with me, Homer.

The training class had academic lessons in the morning. The 1st order of business was passing the Series 7 registration exam, it was a requirement by the Securities and Exchange Commission for a financial planner to qualify for recommending financial investments to clients.

We had a one-hour break for lunch.

Then we’d return to the firm for an afternoon of sales training.

These exhausting days lasted for 13 weeks before Ronson & Co. had the confidence in us to sponsor the recent graduates to take the challenging Series 7.

Most of the trainees looked forward to the hour lunch break. A scenery change from the training room to one of the happening restaurants that dotted the cityscape within a couple of blocks was welcomed by everyone.

Usually, the 10 of us went out together.

We were constantly in search of any recent additions to the Center City restaurant scene. This day we had all agreed to enjoy lunch at El Toro, a Mexican place recently opened.

Ownership of El Toro was aware of the benefits of having a training class of the largest brokerage firm in the city giving the thumbs up to their new restaurant.

They made special efforts to cater to our whims and fancies. The 10 of us were treated like young Kings with a Queen.

Priscilla, our Queen, quickly gained acceptance from the rest of the class, showing her sharp grasp of the academic material.

As far as her sales ability — she could sell me anything she wanted.

Settling down at a big round table. The food I saw at the neighboring stations looked so damn good, I could have feasted on the menu itself.

After ordering, I realized I had to use the facilities. The restaurant was filling up, so I figured I could wash up in the bathroom before the crowd made everything more difficult.

Down a set of stairs, the basement of the restaurant was rehabbed in a pleasant fiesta decor. There was a large brightly colored room with two doors; one saying Senor with a picture of a small figure with what appeared as a dress. The other room said Señora with a picture of a small figure with chaps on.

Having had my aforementioned troubles with the Spanish language, I felt I should decipher the gender of the bathrooms following the pictorial representation

Unfortunately.

I could smell the newness of the men’s room.

I entered the stall. Picking up the seat and peeing was a task that I mastered pretty well since early childhood. I shook an exercise that I found necessary in order to cut down on the dreaded pecker tracks that embarrassingly, all too often, found their way to spot the front of my pants.

As I was tucking my package back where it belongs when I heard a familiar voice say, “It looks like a penis — only smaller!”

YIKES— it was Pricilla!

She graciously explained that Señora was the Spanish word for a married woman.

At least she had a smile on her face when she translated.

To her credit, she never mentioned the incident again when she became among the most successful brokers in the Ronson & Co.class of ‘75!

I was never able to speak or read Spanish, but damn well discovered to check the locks on doors before I tended to business in restaurant restrooms.

This unexpected lesson I learned in the class of ’75 should have been a question on Series 7; a requirement for financial planners everywhere.

*Name rechristened