When I had just moved to the States (which is not very long ago - a month and some 20 days), I felt like I had been slapped in the face by a whole new culture. For one, I found a lot of strangers (cute boys too!) going, "Hey, how you doin'? *grin*" which would initially make me do a backtake and wonder if they were really talking to me or not, all the while having a puzzled expression. And then, there's of course, the mechanization. Everything, by which I literally mean everything, is mechanized. Like the Garbage Van that comes every Monday morning has a mechanized bin holder that lifts, empties and puts the bin back on the ground(!). The cola machine- feed the money, select the cola type, and can comes popping out. Same for candy. Because of the machine-takeover, I can hardly see smiling-mayIhelpyouma'am faces. Even the airport is staff starved! Because, EVERYTHING is push-of-a-button away - like, incase you wanted to know which block, section, floor and what platform the Air Train arrives, all you would have to do is, walk into an elevator, press the button below Air Train and whoosh, in 30 seconds you can hear the cooing of the train. America, there is no recession, you are begging for unemployment!
The first week here, I only raved and raved and raved more about how the air is 7-star and houses look lego set and how the house interiors are out of the world with a laidback balcony overlooking the neverending forest-like backyard, carpeted flooring that feel like a constant pedicure, a chic kitchen that sparks of the chef instinct in even the lazy-est kitchen-lout, jumpy beds that would make one curse their singledom and a sexy fireplace that has sex written all over it! Every road in the place felt new, every corner, every store, every moment. Now a month and 20 days later, although still a lot of things are new, I have realised that the wardrobe door will break if you bang it in anger, fans are throughly useless, KFC original recipe chicken sucks, there are watermelons - seedless (!!) and big, bald (or not bald) men are scary. More on bald/not bald men later.
The first-time-in-an-American-mall can be quite a pot-pourri of an experience. First there is the OhmyfuckingGod-this-place-can-be-called-a-mini-city feeling, and then the OHMYFUCKINGGOD-PRETTY-CLOTHES(!!!! drooool) quicky followed by the WTF-I-cannot-afford-ANYTHING(?!?!?!?!) and then the DAMN-I-NEED-a-JOB(!!!!!!!) and then finally, the SIGH(sad puppy expression). Now, a month and 20 days later, malls = (in one sentence) not good if you don't have the bucks ==> malls = waste of time if there isn't a sale on. Period.
By the way, Chinese women are pushy*. Once, I was literally molested into buying their fried rice and chicken. This is what happened.
Me in the mall's food court. The me is walking casually, looking here, and there, and everywhere. Chinese women go (there were about 6 of them), "ching cha cho chi cha cho". I roughly translated that as, "Come here", so I replied saying, "Thanks, but I'm doing fine". Ordinarily, anyone else would have backed off. But these are Chinese. Chinese are pushy. So, they hold their arms out, and hover chicken bits of different types in front of my mouth and a couple of women coo, "taste it taste it". The me takes a step back but only to be welcomed with more, "taste it taste it" and more (now desperate) hovering. So, the me has no idea what to do, so the me gives in, and tastes it. Before I can even chew it completely, this woman, hands me a plate of more chicken and fried rice, and says, "That will be 6.39, thank you". :\
So that's the story of how I got stuck eating fried rice (which tasted like boiled rice by the way! pfft!) and weird smelling chicken. Now, when I go to the food court, I'm on my guard, and keep away from the Chinese. HMMPF.
*no offence of course. All in good humor! =)
One month and 20 days later, the enthusiasm and excitement is still there, but its lined with a ImissallmyfriendsbackinIndia feeling. Hence, constant e-mail/facebook/orkut checking is what I am doing most of the time these days!
You be good. And, if you're 21 or above, drink my share too!
P.S: Forgot to elaborate on the bald/not bald big men. Some other time!