Pamplona, Spain - It was an inside joke carried too far, say the locals. "Yeah," said Pablo Sanchez-Gomez a Basque residing in Pamplona, Spain using a translator. "Whenever a tourista would ask the barista at the La Rosa Café [The Red Cafe] for a Capuchino [listed as "El Capuchino Especial" on the café chalkboard menu marquee], she'd ask them very loudly: 'Are you sure you want Capuchino?"
That was the signal, drawing the attention of all the locals in the café, giving them time to take cover or else; as the locals cowered under their tables, the barista give a wink to the café owner who would then lift up the swing bar, letting loose "Capuchino" the bull.
It was a marketing idea conjured up by the owner of La Rosa Café to capitalize on the tourists that come to partake in the feast of San Fermin's running of the bulls every July and made famous by the author, Ernest Hemmingway.
However, the inside joke at La Café Rosa ended up costing a man his life.
"I don't give a bloody hell," said Mark Lowton, an Englishman vacationing in Spain, to the locals that tried to keep him away from La Café Rosa. "Damn crazy Mexicans. Don't they know they're the ones that are supposed to be chasing the bulls? I'm warning you now. You blokes better stand down. The UK maybe a member of the EU, but I'm not."
As Mr. Lowton wondered into the quite little café, he noticed the chalkboard menu marquee hanging over the café bar advertising: "El Capuchino Especial". But not the police chalk outline of a body he was stepping over on the floor.
"Oh, would you look at that now, " Mr. Lowton said to himself. "They don't even know how to spell Cappuccino properly, Christ -- Or maybe it's a roost to throw off the Bobbies so they don't have to pay for a liquor license. I better check it out."
"Yoy, Chica! Uno El Capuchino Especial," yelled out Mr. Lowton to the barista across the café, who was busy serving another customer. Then rudely leaning his chair back over to a nearby local to translate what he just said. "That means: 'Listen up Bird. How about a drink' in Mexican over here."
"Are you sure you want Capuchino?" said the barista in her best broken English English just above a whisper, looking nervous and uncertain in her reply. Her eyes squinting as she hesitantly looked over to the café owner. The locals scattering to take cover under their tables as the bar door swung up and a charging 'Capuchino' was let out once again.
"Bloody hell," said Mr. Lowton as 'Capuchino' headed straight for him. "Damn Mexicans."