Well, of COURSE.
The proper pronunciation is halla-PAIN-yo.
Brings to mind a tale the Troll told me, about a time he drove back to Houston to see his mother.
Houston, Texas, is about a four hour drive from where we lived at the time, so he’d been on the road awhile when, as he drove up Westheimer in his huge, ancient white Cadillac, thick ugly black smoke began belching out from under the hood and the wheel wells. What the HELL?
The Troll went from “seein’ fine” to “visibility zero” in a matter of seconds. Frantically, he jerked the wheel to the right, hoping like mad no one was in his way, and hoping even more that he was aimed at where he remembered the convenience store’s parking lot to be.
He felt no bump; he hadn’t hit a curb. He coasted a ways, hoping desperately that no one was in his way, and when he simply couldn’t stand it any more (the smoke had begun leaking into the car, choking him with the stink of burning rubber), he slammed on the brakes, threw it into PARK, and killed the engine.
Leaping from the car, he saw that he had in fact made it into the convenience store parking lot. No one else was in the parking lot. He was out of traffic. He ran around to the front end, which was still belching great black gaseous turds of smoke, and fiddled with the hood release, burning his hands in the process.
The Cadillac’s hood burst open, and a fireball erupted skyward. “Holy FUCK,” thought the Troll, “MY FUCKING CAR IS ON FUCKING FIRE!”
He leaped backwards, away from the roaring inferno atop his engine.
His butt hit… the gas pumps.
He had parked his burning car less than six feet from the gas pumps.
The Troll about lost his MIND.
He leaped into the car, hoping to move it. He tried to start the engine. The car screamed like a horse might if you stuck it in an industrial drill press, but it did not start.
He tried to put the car in neutral. No go. Something was wrong with the transmission or the shift lever. The car wasn’t moving.
He ran, screaming, into the convenience store, howling at the clerk to call the fire department, get some water, get SOMETHING!
The clerk, a middle-aged Korean man, looked at him funny. The clerk then turned, carefully selected a pack of Marlboro Reds from the rack behind him, and placed them on the counter. “Dolla fotty nye,” he said, which gives you some clue as to how long ago this happened.
The Troll stood there, aghast. “Hey!” he cried. “My fucking CAR is on fire! It’s out there, next to the PUMPS! Where’s your fucking PHONE?”
The clerk looked at him. An irritated look creeped over the man’s face. He replaced the Marlboros, and pulled down a pack of Marlboro Lights, and dropped them on the counter. “Dolla fotty nye.”
The Troll relates to me that at this point, he actually began to see stars. His vision became a little red around the edges. “HEY, FUCKHEAD!” he screamed, causing the clerk to jump a bit. The Troll spun and pointed out at the plate glass front of the building. Some twenty yards away, right next to the gas pumps, the Caddy was still burning merrily away. “ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? IF YOU DON’T CALL THE FUCKING FIRE DEPARTMENT, YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING LIVELIHOOD IS ABOUT TO GO UP IN A BIG FUCKING FIREBALL! DO YOU COMPRENDE “FIREBALL?” HOW ABOUT “KABOOM?” DOES THE WORD “DIE” MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU?”
The Clerk got a sour look on his face. He did not appreciate this big stupid white man screaming at him. He put the Marlboros away, pulled down a pack of Camels, and put them on the counter. “Dolla fotty nye.”
The Troll froze. He told me that his first instinct was to hit the guy… but how could he really attack the guy for just… standing there… not knowing how to speak English? It wasn’t HIS fault that someone had driven a blazing deathtrap into his parking lot and parked it next to the gas pumps. But – couldn’t he SEE? Troll spun around. The burning car was still there. So were the gas pumps. For how long?
“Dolla fotty nye,” said the clerk, testily.
The Troll turned and looked at the clerk. What the FUCK? He really was having a hard time believing the man couldn’t see this giant burning land yacht parked out front. Idly, he wondered what would happen if he grabbed the guy, dragged him over the counter, and pointed his face out the front door. Would he notice THEN what was going on? (You had to know the Troll. He was big enough to do just that, hence the name).
…and while he stood there, staring at the testy little man… he noticed the giant red fire extinguisher, hanging on the wall, right next to the big rack of cigarettes.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the Troll launched himself over the counter.
The clerk screamed. “HYEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” He leaped back. Troll ignored him, tore the fire extinguisher off the wall, and launched himself back over the counter, and headed for the front door.
“HYEEEE!” screamed the clerk again. “NO! YOU TEEF! YOU STEAL! YOU NO STEAL! YOU BRING BACK!”
The Troll slammed through the front doors, tearing the tag and locking ring off the extinguisher.
The clerk tore through the door after him. “YOU TEEF! YOU NO STEAL! YOU BRING BACK! YOU TEEF! YOU TEEEEEEF!!!”
The Troll sprinted across the parking lot, grabbed the little dangling hose, and furiously began hosing chemical foam at the blast furnace under his hood. The flames quickly vanished, but the thick, billowy smoke got thicker, and continued to gush from the engine compartment. The Troll kept hosing, furiously!
“YOU TEEF! NOT FOR YOU! YOU NO PAY! YOU TEEF! YOU STEAL! YOU PAY! YOU BRING BACK! YOU TEEF!”
The Troll ignored the little man, and kept blasting. As he hosed into the swirling smoky mass, the volume of smoke began to decrease. Troll realized that the fire was probably out, and what he was seeing was evaporation from the red-hot metal. He decided not to take any chances, and kept blasting the stuff into the front of his car.
“YOU NO PAY! YOU PAY! YOU PAY! YOU PAY! YOU GIVE BACK! YOU TEEF!”
As the smoke finally began to clear… and as the engine finally ceased to make more… the Troll could see the fused, melted remains of his engine block. The fire was out. The wind dispersed the thick, nasty smoke.
The Troll realized that something was tapping him on the back. He turned around. The little clerk was furiously clubbing him with closed fists. “YOU TEEF! YOU BRING BACK! NOT YOURS! YOU STEAL! YOU NO STEAL! YOU PAY! YOU TEEF!”
The Troll waited for the realization to sink in on the little man. The Troll stood (and stands) some six foot three, and weighs some 250 pounds. The little Korean clerk stood perhaps five foot four, and was maybe a hundred and ten, dripping wet. Plainly, it would not take long for the little man to get a grip.
The little man did not get a grip. He did notice that the Troll had turned around, though, and quit hitting him. Instead, the clerk settled for waving his hands around and pointing angrily, still keeping up his litany of “YOU TEEF! YOU NO PAY! YOU GIVE BACK! YOU PAY! YOU NO RUN! YOU TEEF! YOU PAY,” only now, the speech was interspersed with what Troll assumed was some sort of Korean profanity. He couldn’t understand it, but it sure SOUNDED profane.
He just stood there. What the hell was he supposed to do? He opened his mouth to try to explain.
The clerk waved his hands in front of Troll’s face. He didn’t want to hear it. “YOU TEEF! YOU NO PAY! YOU GIVE BACK!”
The Troll thought about it. He held out the fire extinguisher.
“YOU STEAL! YOU NO PAY! YOU–”
The clerk realized that the Troll was offering him the extinguisher. He stopped talking for a moment. He took the extinguisher. An odd look of alacrity crossed the man’s face. Plainly, the Troll had realized he was not going to get away with this shocking act of public theft, and was surrendering his stolen property.
The clerk waved a naughty finger at the Troll. “No steal!” he admonished. And then he walked back into the store with the extinguisher. There was no clue he had ever noticed the burning car at all.
The police showed up shortly thereafter, and politely asked the Troll for some sort of explanation. Someone had reported a fire in the vicinity. Troll told them what had happened. The other officer went into the store to speak with the clerk. Troll was a bit worried about that – he HAD technically assaulted the man and stolen his extinguisher – but surely, the police would understand. Then again, this was Houston, Texas, where the cops do NOT have a reputation for being kind or reasonable.
While the officer outside took the Troll’s statement, Troll glanced nervously at the front of the store. Through the glass, he could see the little Korean man, as well as several OTHER Koreans who had apparently materialized out of nowhere, all gesturing and talking to the officer inside. The clerk occasionally paused to point at the Troll.
Troll waited.
Shortly thereafter, the cop walked out. He was chuckling.
“The store manager says you stole his fire extinguisher, but he made you give it back,” snickered the cop. “He says since you gave it back, he won’t press charges.”
“Officer,” said the Troll, “did he ever actually notice that my car was on fire, and parked right next to his gas pumps?”
The cop quit laughing. He glanced at his clipboard. “You know,” the cop said, “he never actually mentioned it…”
