Found in Translation: Taking a tongue-lashing at the gas pump

Terminology, customs differ at service stations
Cape Coral resident Alessia Leathers, who is from Peru, writes about how words in German and English can often be misinterpreted.
Have you ever watched a wrestling match at a gas station? I did. In fact, I was one of the wrestlers.
Without exhaustive hours of training, adequate gear, or a fancy nickname, I turned out to be a competitive opponent in a matter of seconds.
It happened two months ago, when a gas station employee in Atlantic City fought with me to have control over the nozzle. I guess he erroneously assumed that I was a stubborn patron, or worse, a renegade lawbreaker, instead of a tourist from Florida.
"Do not touch it," he yelled.
"Why not? I've already learned how to do it," I insisted.
"Leave it, NOW," he yelled again, finally removing the nozzle from my hands and pointing it at me as if he was going to shoot me.
Little did I know that I was in one of the two states that for more than 50 years has considered it illegal to pump your own gas. Of course, as soon as the employee made it clear that he had the law on his side, I quit. Call it default, according to the wrestling rules.
What ignited the match was the fact that I am a proud survivor of what the state of New Jersey and Oregon consider a hazardous procedure. In other words, the gas station employee did not recognize the fact that I have earned the title of "Miss Nozzle" after five years of dealing with the complicated technology of pumping gas into my car.
In Peru, we stay inside our cars at all gas stations. Yes, we are overindulged by at least two employees. One pumps the gas while the other wipes your windshield. Sometimes, a third employee offers to check oil and tires. Even more than few times, a free hot cup of coffee has been offered to keep me warm from a cold winter night. So, self-service is just inconceivable.
Of course, these days are over. Since I moved to Florida, I do not know how many times I have lost my pride and glory while dealing with a machine that seems to be alive: it eats your money, releases a strong odor, and even talks back to you.
What happened to me in New Jersey might sound familiar to many tourists, even Americans who might have experienced a similar situation. My story, however, has an element that makes it, how to say it, singular?
In my country, a gas station is not called "estación de servicio." Instead, we use the term "grifo," which has different meanings around Latin America. In Mexico it is an adjective used to designate a drunk person while in Colombia is synonymous with arrogant and snobbish.
The term "grifo," as the English "griffon" or "griffin," also means in Spanish the fabulous animal usually represented as having the head and wings of an eagle, and the body and hind quarters of a lion.
But the word carries another meaning, and here comes the confusion. After the aftermath, when I was signing the peace agreement (read the credit card receipt), the attendant asked me what made me assume he owned a dog.
I learned right there that griffon is also the name of a species of coarse-haired dog, which resembles a terrier. In the fight, the Spanish word "grifo" might have slipped out of my mouth (it usually happens when I am tired or angry). I might have said something like, "what's the matter, are you the owner of the grifo?" I am positive that it was the first time he had an encounter with a Peruvian customer.