Slow down and start making sense.

We waited forever for that damned interview. Everybody just had to be at that performance. It was so important to be there. But we weren't there, and maybe they held that against us. I don't know. But I do know that when they finally got around to taking our pictures, my antics were too much for them. They wanted everything to flow a certain way. Nothing should be mixed up, they thought. Well that's just too bad, I thought. When at last the interview started, the questioner spoke so swift I couldn't understand anything. After her first question I paused to give my brain some time to make sense of what she'd asked, but before anything sensible could register she moved on to the next question. I didn't understand that one either, so she moved flustrated on to the next. I didn't understand that one either, so rudely I asked her to slow down and start making sense. She stormed off and in a classroom somewhere away from the festival I consulted a very tan guitar player. He turned out to be Portuguese and I thought I could pronounce his name just fine, but he did not agree.