My Misadventures in USA -Part II

“I speak American.”
“How is it different from English?”
“English is spoken by the natives of England.”
“Yes, I understand, but how is your language different?”
When asked, “How are you?” we say,” I am good” and they say,” I am doing fine.”
“Anything more, that’s just an expression. I mean, semantically is there a difference?”
“Look here, my friend, we speak American and you ask those darn Brits what’s the difference?”

The first morning breakfast did not make me any wiser about the American way of life, but at least it was the beginning. The Americans are generally happy go lucky kind; take things as they come, not going deep or into the root of anything, quite superficial, which is in a way good and in a way bad.
When you meet anyone, irrespective of the fact that you are total strangers, you are always met with a greeting,”Hey, how are you doing today?” By the time you can gather your breath and mutter,” I am fine, what about you?” the person will be a mile [see, I started talking miles] away from you. But, it’s alright; it’s the thought that counts.

Our training was quite fun, the Americans have a nice way of presentation. It was much less of training but more of an interaction, the deeper understandings being told with lively anecdotes. Of the four days of training we only had a slide show of ten minutes and the rest all were like Hans Anderson stories.
The group was quite diverse, there were four people from Quebec, Canada and they spoke more French than American [English], three guys were from North Carolina and the heaviest among them [which already clarifies that all were overweight] kept on humming a CCR number, and I was the lone Indian and that too a dark one.

The organizers everyday placed a huge box full of Donuts of different types. After having one I realized why “Type One” Diabetes and obesity is so popular in USA, but went on to have more than four everyday and realized that it’s not the fault of the people but the Donut manufacturer, it is so difficult to resist.

Rockford in April was by no imagination hot, temperatures were hovering between three to twelve degree centigrade and a hot steaming coffee was my constant companion. But my friends in the class did not agree with me. While I was helping myself with hot coffee, they were filling their cups with crushed ice. Some chewed on the ice, making an awful noise and running a shiver in my spine, others just sipped at intervals to have the water from melted ice. Later I found that wherever you go and ask for water they will give you cold water with ice cubes. Some things in life are beyond logic and I treated this as one of them.

I was ready for the breakfast on the second day, ordered eggs [there is nothing singular in US, all are big, oversized] to be made nice and easy with brown bread and sausages with coffee on the go. Felt so satisfied. One of the French guys ordered for pancakes with maple syrup. When it was served, it reminded me of “set dosa” served with molasses.

My friend took me for dinner that night. It was a nice place, a sports bar sort of, but they also served the best steak in Rockford. Rockford is a small town and I think there are not much of Indians that live there.
The young bartender was nice and friendly and asked me,” What can I get you for a drink, Kingfisher or Stella Artois?” It was smart of him as it proved that he knows the taste of people as per their nationality.
For the main course I had already decided to try the Sirloin steak with mashed potato. The following conversation followed:
“So gentlemen, have you decided on the main course, the kitchen is about to close in one hours time.”
“I will have the Sirloin steak with mashed potato and ribs.”
“What’s the portion you want, six, eight or eleven ounce?”
“I will go for eleven ounce”
“How would you like to have your steak – rare, medium or well done?”
“Medium, I guess [I just want to eat my cow].”
“Will it be rare medium or medium well done?”
“Simply medium, I mean medium-medium.”
“That’s great; you would like to have salad or French fries along with the steak?”
“Salad, please.” [Please let me have my food, the kitchen will close by the time you are finished with the order].
“What dressing would you like to have with the salad?”
Now, that was enough, I could not take it any more.
“Tahina mixed with Hummus topped with crushed Mutabel.”
This completely unsettled the young man. He has never heard of these Middle Eastern concoctions in his life.
Still he faced up to my challenge and said,” Sorry, Sir, we don’t have those dressings – it does not go well with our salad.”
Now the address turned to a polite “Sir”.
“Do you have Thousand Island or Miracle Whip?” I was complete novice when it comes to salad dressing – but these names I have seen when I had been to Subways.
The bartender almost broke down,” No, Sir, we only have Ranch, Blue Cheese and French dressing and I will serve you samples of all and whatever you like I will serve you more.”
“Thank you; please rush before the kitchen closes.”

It gave me a good feeling to win a small physiological battle, but the steak was one of the best one I ever had in my life.