I visited a restaurant of good repute for dinner. Sitting at the next table was an old black American gentleman. He asked me where I was from. “Oregon,” I answered. He thought for a moment and asked, “Is that somewhere in the Midwest?” It was a struggle for me to not show my shock that an American would not know where Oregon is, and it’s not like he was born yesterday, and he did spend the bulk of his life in the US. He was from New Jersey – and yes, I knew where that is. He asked me what I think of a particular professional athlete. I told him that if the athlete doesn’t care who I am, then I don’t care who he is.
The next day, for various reasons, I visited a supermarket that I don’t normally frequent. This is a major supermarket. In fact, it’s THE major supermarket in this part of town. It’s fairly large and lots of people shop there.
Every single loaf of “wholewheat bread” turned out (based on the ingredients) to not actually be wholewheat. I figured I’d bake my own. With a bit of effort, I found some wholewheat flour. Next, I needed yeast. I looked around for it and finally gave up. I asked an employee. Turns out they were out of yeast. “How can a major supermarket be out of yeast?” I thought. Then again, very few people bake for themselves around here.
At my regular supermarket, one can sign up for a loyalty card at any register, so I figured it must be the same here. Not so. The cashier told me I must visit customer service for this. The employee at customer service was so distracted that I was about to ask her if I needed to make an appointment to speak with her. Eventually, I was able to ask her for the loyalty card; I’d brought my I.D. for this purpose. “We’re out of plastic,” she said. No loyalty card today!
On the way home, I stopped at another shop, a combination grocery store and hardware store with furniture as well. It’s actually a good place to shop for certain items. I asked an employee for yeast (using the correct Spanish word). He had no idea what I was talking about. When we returned to the register empty-handed, the cashier came to the rescue. She knew what it was and where it was. The man grabbed me a container of yeast – with an expiration date of last year. Luckily, I found a fresher container, and I explained to him that this matters for yeast.
The ignorance here, both among the natives and the expats, never ceases to amaze me.
