My Misadventure's in U.S.A - Part I

The Lufthansa flight, which was the first one to take off from Frankfurt to cross the Atlantic defying the dictums of the met department and the volcanic ashes, landed in Chicago O’Hara International airport in the wee hours of the morning. The airport was deserted except for few duty bound officials.
I had my turn in the immigration with a middle aged lady, who wanted to laugh out loud looking at the condition of the passengers but as per the training imparted on her had to maintain a stern face. After taking all forms of prints of my body parts and some frivolous questions, answered by equally mundane answers, she put a stamp on my visa and said,” Have fun.”

By the time I checked into the hotel, The Clock Tower in Rockford, it was around two in the morning and way past my sleeping hours. The lady in the reception handed my two access cards for the room to which I sheepishly asked,” Are they both for the room?”
May be it was a dumb question as she stared at me and said,” Excuse me.”
I took the strength to ask again,” Are these keys to the same room?”
She shook her head in disbelief and said, “Yes, any problems?” No, I realized I was in United States of America, where things are different if not somewhat through [as per them and stupid as per me].

I had been in Gulf countries and realized that they do things completely different from how we do things back here in India. That was contributed by the humorous fact that Muslims do exactly opposite to that of Hindus.
I nearly spend ten minutes trying to open the door, inserting that card, taking it out, waiting for the green light to blink and push the door lever down to enter. I am not a simpleton and it is not that it was by first visit abroad from Jhumritalaiya.
I went back to the reception, expressed my inability to enter my room. By now she was quite irritated; because I found out that I was causing a rift between her and her big fat burger [at two in the night?].
She came along me, after whispering a little sweet nothing to her burger [that meant a big bite] did the same things I did till she lifted the door knob UP to let me in. It was a second welcome to Uncle Sam’s land.

Since I could not sleep I tried to see all gadgets in the room, tried operating them [if it did not work in my way I always tried the opposite and in most cases it worked, they took pity and left the TV remote unchanged – Green button for ON and Red for OFF] and then realized that I was once again in trouble.
My hand phone was telling me to feed her with energy and there was a complete mismatch with the plug and the socket. I had one adaptor for Germany, Britain, Australia and even one for Mocondo, but nothing would go in. It was like a strict no, no without Durex [in America, use American].
Next day, early in the morning, I made my first trip to the famously infamous Walmart [thank god, they are open 24X7] and picked up an “all American adapter for the rest of the world” for $ twenty. My initiations to America were quite costly.

When I came back, participants for the training program were already at the breakfast. A little bit of self introduction and getting to know each other was interrupted by the waitress’s [she was a stout lady in her fifties] wake up call,” Hey, how are you doing today and what can I serve you for breakfast?”
I was about to say, Idli, Sambhar and Chatni separate [I have aligned my taste with the place I stay now] but realized that would be too much to ask for.
Wherever I have been, breakfast had always been a buffet, so ordering from menu was more or less the first time. I usually have a light breakfast of milk and cornflakes and sometimes an egg with a piece of bread.
I asked her if I can have a couple of toasts and an egg to go with.
“What sort of bread would you like – with butter, full fat or margarine or jam to go with? How do you want your eggs to be served and would you take coffee, tea or orange juice? And by the way you need to tell me if you want bacon or sausage along with the egg.”
Honey, you just shrunk me.
No one told me how my face looked at that point of time but I could hear the lady saying,” Don’t worry, Honey – I will get the right stuff for you.”

I was served with toasted brown bread with butter with a small accompaniment of jam, a fresh garden omlette with golden brown mashed potato, three big fat beef sausages and a steaming cup of coffee.
That was one hell of my first morning in the United States of America.