DENGUE MANIA

So apparently the best souvenir I brought back from South America was not a cute scarf, or a sweater, or even some kick-ass pair of jeans I bought at Parque Arauco. Oh no, the best thing I took back with me was Dengue Fever.

Which sounds really bad ass, but is really just a fancy shmancy term for a really fucked up, high fever that goes on for about 5-7 days. Plus feeling like you have the energy of a 90-year-old woman passed out after drinking too much on a wine tour (can you tell I've been watching Kathy Griffin reruns?!??). Plus body aches. Plus feeling like you have been sweating so much from trying to break your fever (ok, Tylenol breaking your fever) that you feel like you must have been - unbeknownst to you - secretly addicted to some drug that your family is now putting you through detox for.

Dengue Fever sucks. But it sounds really badass, and I think it will give me more street cred, which is always a plus. Tradeoffs man, tradeoffs.

Interrogation Room: The Supermarket Edition

Last week, a mere 2 days after I got home from South America, my mom sent me down to the grocery store to get some food for the house (Important note: I was already doing more in the little mom-mandated field trip in GringoLand than I did in my own Chilean household - I barely lifted a finger down there. Yeah, I was fucking spoiled). 

So I get in line, and at the checkout counter, the lady is going through my grocery items. Then, 15 seconds later, out of the blue, I hear way too much enthusiastic noise coming from her. The way too enthusiastic noise manifested itself into a question:

"WELL HOW HAS YOUR DAY BEEN SO FAR????"

I flinched. I was taken about. I was shocked. Scared. Surprised. Offended. 

I felt like my whole soul had been ripped out and that this lady was going to exam it on the operating table. I felt emotionally violated. More importantly, I felt annoyed. Why the hell is it this lady's right to know what I have been up to today? And why do I have to expend precious energy to explain it to her?

You see, being down in Chile meant that there was no real concept of customer service. No one would tend to you in restaurants. In pharmacies, workers either acted like you were ruining their day by merely existing, or act like you were invisible while they would ring you up. Here's your bloqueador and your leche con chocolate. Now get the fuck out. It was something at first I was a bit turned off by. Like any average arrogant and self-absorbed norteamericano, initially, I thought, "Why don't you care about ME?? Why DON'T you want to know about MY interesting life?? 

After a while, their apathy became something I appreciated because I didn't have to perform for strangers. So, if I had a bad day, I could still be emo around them without them noticing or caring. Cry-Time in public spaces now? Awesome.

And now that I am back in the US, this interest - whether it be fake or real - in my life bugs the shit out of me. I had to quickly pull myself together at the supermarket to restrain from yelling at the lady and telling her to shut the fuck up with her artificially sugary sweet attitude towards me and get the fuck out of my business. Luckily, my gringo knowledge of social norms kicked in just in time, and I engaged in obligatory 2-minute-pretend-like-supermarket-worker-is-my-best-friend-talk and got out. 

So that was the beginning of my reverse culture shock here. My only question now is, when the hell is it going to end??

Bienvenido a los Estados Unidos

Yesterday, on my way over to Berkeley to visit my friend Heather, a guy suddenly swerves over on a busy highway in his pickup truck and cuts me off. He then proceeds to flip me off (in front of his kids, who didn't look a day older than 9). He then starts making angry signals and talking to his kids, and they are laughing and continually looking behind to laugh at me. He then swerves over into the next lane and flips me off again. 

I was so confused, because, if anything, I should be the one that's angry! My only theory is that maybe he didn't like my two bumper stickers?? The hippiest ones by the way - I mean, one of them says, "TEACH PEACE." Yeah, I'm that kind of person. Now who could ever be mad at peace? 

Then, 15 minutes later, on another highway, 2 lanes were merging into one. And I was clearly the car that was in front of another car, meaning that HE had to yield to me. But he only speeds up and tries to overtake me. So I have to rapidly swerve out of the lane to avoid being hit by him. 

Then in Berkeley, I see a car with a bumper sticker that says, "Sarah Palin '12." You have got to be fucking kidding me. 

If this is a sign for what my time like will be in GringoLandia from now on, then I am royally fucked. 

Well, welcome back to the U.S., I guess. 

Reverse Culture Shock: The Preview

So I am in the airport waiting for my connection, and I decided in the hour or less that I had before the plane was going to take off, I would go to Dunkin' Donuts. I think I have gone to this McDonut establishment a total of maybe 2 or 3 times in my life (if that). Hell, I don't even really like donuts all that much. But this whole time in Chile I have been wanting to try a donut with manjar filling, because really, that's glocalization at its finest (if you don't know this term, Google "McDonaldization" + "glocalization," and hopefully it will come up). 

I order my donut, eat its creamy, sugary and manjar-y goodness, and I am just about to leave McDonut's, when I hear this loud, annoying, sharp, piercing, obnoxious, and heart palpitating-inducing voice ask rudely to the girl that works at Dunkin's:

"DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH???"

The employee responds, "Un poquito" (A little bit). The woman is not phased, and continues to speak in her loud, annoying, sharp, piercing, obnoxious, and heart palpitating-inducing voice:

"DO YOU HAVE CHICKEN?!??!??"

"I WANT A CHICKEN WRAP!!"

"DO YOU HAVE CHICKEN?!!??!?"

Finally, I decide to intervene because a) I feel bad for this employee, who was really cool and nice to me b) I know, you know, a little bit of Spanish, after being here for half a year of my life and decide that maybe it could be put into good use for once and c) and I wanted this woman to get her dumbass chicken wrap and get the hell out of there as soon as possible so that the feeling of wanting to slit my wrists because of the sound of her voice would subside.

So I go up to the woman, and tell her that I can translate for her if she wants. While I am trying to translate for her, she is half-screaming obnoxiously into my ear. It kind of went like this (imagine the words being spit out at the same time):

Me: Tienes ave de pollo?

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: I WANT CHICKEN...DO YOU HAVE CHICKEN?!?

Me: Hay pan, como de tortilla??

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: IS THERE TORTILLA??!? DO YOU HAVE TORTILLA? I WANT TORTILLA BREAD! TELL HER THAT I WANT TORTILLA BREAD!

Me [to GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA]: Do you want avocado?

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: I GUESS A LITTLE....I DON'T KNOW, JUST TELL HER TO MAKE THE #2! I DON'T CARE, I JUST WANT THE CHICKEN WRAP!

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: OH, I WANT IT CUT IN 2 PARTS! CAN YOU GET HER TO CUT IT IN 2 PARTS??

Me: Sería posible cortar el sandwich en dos partes?

GRINGÍSIMA GRINGA: IS SHE GOING TO CUT IT IN 2 PARTS?!?? TELL HER I WANT IT CUT IN 2 PARTS!!

I ask the lady this, and she looks at me like, "Duh, that's what we are supposed to do when we make sandwiches, what the fuck did you think I was going to do?" I give this look back that tries as best to communicate, "I am ashamed this lady represents my country, and don't worry, I think she's dumb too. Sorry you have to deal with her." I hope that message got across.

So the lady finally stops yelling, and the sandwich gets made, and the whole ordeal is finally over. This whole past week or so, I have been kind of dreading going back to the States, for a variety of reasons, and this only reminded me why I was having such strongly ambivalent feelings about returning to GringoLandia. 

I HATE that some of our people are so ignorant. I HATE that many refuse to learn a second language. I HATE that many arrogantly assume that no matter where they go, they can just speak English and be able to get by no problem and get whatever they want. I HATE that many expect others in the world to yield to them, because hey, they speak English, and thus, are special. I HATE that many only confirm the negative image and reputation of norteamericanos in the world.

Don't get me wrong, there are many parts of me that are excited to come back. But let's keep it real, reverse culture shock is going to suck. It's REALLY going to suck.