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“I am sorry, but as mentioned at time of purchase, we do not offer refunds on any transactions after a fifteen-day window.”

Walter looked at the cashier, then to the parrot perched comfortably in its cage on the counter. The parrot looked back at Walter. He could have sworn he saw a smirk on its beak.

“No, no I get that.” Walter said, trying to collect his thoughts. The bird swayed peacefully on its swing. On the front of the cage, the name Mr. Babbles was etched in aged bronze. “I’m not saying I’m trying to return it. I guess I’m looking for…customer service?”

“Customer service…for the bird? As in, it’s sick?”

Walter shook his head.

“No, it seems healthy. VERY healthy, all things considered. This is more like…operations assistance?”

“How do you mean?” the cashier asked from behind her desk.

“Que voulez-vous dire?” responded Mr. Babbles in a chipper voice.

“Well, that.” Walter said, pointing an accusatory finger at the cage.

“You’re upset the parrot speaks?” The cashier questioned with a raised brow. “That’s one of the most common things known about parrots. They talk.”

Walter felt the masked sarcasm ooze from the cashier's voice.

“No, of course not. That was one of the appeals my wife and I thought having a parrot would be. Could be fun, the kids would love it, we could teach it things, maybe have it respond to knock-knock jokes.”

“Qui est là?.” The parrot responded.

“But that! That right there,” Walter accused, his finger back to pointing at the bird. “When I bought the parrot, I knew it had come from a number of different owners. I just didn’t think I was buying a French bird.”

The woman behind the counter nodded along, looking back at Mr. Babbles.

“I take it you were expecting to purchase an English bird?” she asked. Walter couldn’t tell if there was any sincerity in her voice.

“Oiseau anglais!” The parrot chirped.

“See, I know there’s no such thing as an English bird.” Walter sputtered, trying to contain his frustration. “Or a French bird or anything like that. But this thing CLEARLY knows what it’s doing. I’m not going to pretend like I understand French, but I understand when I’m being mocked.”

The cashier studied Walter’s face, then the bird's.

“So I’m clear – you believe the bird is INTENTIONALLY speaking French in order to get on your nerves?”

“Look, I’m not going to try and assume a motive here. But is there some kind of, I don’t know, trick you know? Like a bird reset?”

“Actually, now that you ask, there is!” The cashier responded enthusiastically. “If you look right behind the parrot’s ear coverts, you’ll see a small pin hole. Inserting something like a paperclip should reset it to factory settings.”

Walter stared back at the Cashier.

“Again, I understand when I’m being mocked.”

“C'est un imbécile.” Squawked the bird.

“See! That wasn’t even a translation. I don’t speak French, but imbecile kind of speaks for itself!”

The woman behind the counter shook her head, sticking her fingers into the cage to gently nuzzle the parrot under its chin. The parrot closed its eyes and leaned into the gentle scratch.

“Look, sir, trust me when I say that you are not the first person to have a complaint about your bird repeating things it shouldn’t be. Kids teaching parrots to swear, parrots revealing sensitive information to spouses ill-timed. It’s what they do.”

“C'est ce que nous faisons.” Repeated the bird.

Walter exhaled and looked over at the feathered francophone.

“It’s just frustrating. I feel like I’m the ONLY person who isn’t bilingual at this point. And now I have to add birds to my competition? Really dents the ego, you know?”

The cashier sighed.

“Would it help if we made a list of things you can do that the parrot can’t?”

Walter looked at Mr. Babbles. The parrot stared back, as if daring him to accept that offer.

“Thanks, but I feel like bragging to a parrot that I have the ability to drive and pay taxes might just be the saddest thing I’ve ever considered.”

“Up to you.” the cashier responded, sliding the cage back to the other side of the counter. “but either way, as I said, no refunds, or reset buttons. Just one happy, healthy parrot.”

Walter slouched his shoulders, looking at Mr. Babbles, swinging contentedly on his swing, whistling a tuneless melody.

“I’m glad he’s healthy, sure. I just wish he didn’t have such a…I don’t know…smugness about him.”

“Look, can I be honest with you?” The cashier asked, leaning in. “Mr. Babbles here has had a long history of getting re-homed. The old guy’s got at least 70 years on him, and just looking at his file, I can see almost a dozen homes in this time.”

“I thought you said there was no refunds.”

“Well, I didn’t want to give you any ideas, but the number of times Mr. Babbles has just been dropped back off outside the door before open has gotten frustrating.”

Walter looked the bird up and down, trying to catch even a smidge of intention in the bird’s eye.

“Alright, maybe I was too harsh.” He admitted. “Maybe I can even try and learn a thing or two from it, ya know?”

“Exactly!” the cashier beamed. “Treat Mr. Babbles like your own Duolingo. Just a parrot instead of an Owl.”

“Hou-hou,” Mr. Babbles responded.

Walter sighed and picked the cage up from the counter. The parrot shifted in place, looking up at Walter with an almost hopeful expression.

“Alright, ya old man, “ Walter exhaled. “Let’s see if we can make this work between us. But no more of this imbécile stuff, got it?”

“Je le promets.” Squawked the bird.

“See? Like you guys are old friends already.” The cashier smiled, already eyeing the growing line that had formed behind them during the exchange.

Walter carried the cage out through the parking lot and loaded it back into the passenger seat of his CRV. He wrapped the seatbelt around the cage, and Mr. Babbles ruffled his feathers comfortably.

“Alright bud, let’s get you home. Can you say that in French for me?”

“집으로 갑시다.” Mr. Babbles squawked happily.

“We’ll work on that.” Walter said, putting the car into gear.