Melissa and I were sitting on a bench at the Rijksmuseum when a kind-faced elderly woman approached us, a guard guiding her by the elbow toward the bench. We immediately rose to give her our seats, but instead of, say, sitting down, she began chittering at us with some sort of urgency in Dutch. It seemed like time stopped while her mouth continued to open and close, open and close, while she squawked and clicked and yooped and eccched. We stared at her, frozen in terror, finally managing to summon enough strength to back away. And as we did, Melissa murmured, “I don’t speak what you’re talking.”
Then we hid around the corner, which was about five inches from where the old woman was sitting, and we snorted with laughter until my father came to take us away. I'm sure the poor woman is still wondering why they let the feeble-minded wander unescorted through a museum.