Coffee Shop Talk...with my Peoples
Ah, for months I've let my poor blog lay fallow... no topic seemed worth exploring, each and every rant that my fevered brain produced would disappear within minutes, and god only knows how many times I've squelched the urge to indulge in the usual "Jesus fucking christ, my classes are killing me!" diatribe.
But ahh...today, I return, prepared to communicate the sheer weirdness of a conversation I had with a complete stranger, in the stinking pit of corporate greed that is Starbucks. The morning (or..rather afternoon. I really need to stop waking up at 2pm. Damn spring break) started like any other... Having regrettably spotted the "weird Moroccan guy" (more on this at a later date perhaps) in the freakishly large plate glass window of Caribou Coffee (what a bizarre name for a cafe...), I strolled into Starbucks and did my usual six point inspection of all choice studying locations.
The only suitable place was the plush chair...seated directly across from a middle-aged Indian man. Uh oh. Don't get me wrong, I love catching up on the merry old days of post-colonial India as much as the next person, but I'm one of those strange crazzzzy people that come to cafes to work. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I just walked into Kiva Han for the express purpose of accosting some stranger and forcing them into meaningless small talk. Clearly, others don't share my view.
Within minutes, even my characteristic studying pose complete with glazed look and music blasting did nothing to discourage the Old Uncle India (OUI...gotta love my acronyms) from the relentless pursuit of empty conversation. Okay, perhaps not completely empty....it was full of that delightful brand of life advice that is trite, presumptuous, and completely unasked for. I'm going to recount this descent into the Twilight Zone as best as I can.
Perhaps to aid you all in reliving this with me...I should add that this guy sounded like Apu. I think that's one of the only reasons I stayed as long as I did...hilarious. Oh you want a visual too huh? Thinning hair, a paunch caused no doubt by costant samosa consumption, and thick glasses. oh yeah...HOT. Cough, anyway, on with the story...
OUI: "So...you from India."
Me: "Nope." One word answers are good right? He seemed nice enough but I was 13 pages into the exciting world of renal physiology... But OUI looked so lost and confused by my answer, much like the scores of white people who I categorically refuse to give a satisfactory answer to when they ask where I'm from. I do so on principle....not beause it's incredibly fun to annoy them...okay fine, a little of both. Anyway, I felt sorry for him, and added "My parents are from India."
OUI brightened up like it was Diwali! He gave me a sage nod like Yoda as if to say "See, you cannot fool me."
OUI: "What are you studying now?"
Me: "Biology."
OUI: "Oh good good, that is good. When are you going to medical school?"
Uh....right after I swallow glass.
Me: "Um..I haven't really decided...it's medical school...or ...(mumble) law school."
I know what you're thinking...coward! Okay, so ever since I dumped pre-med I've taken some sort of perverse joy in informing all my nosy Indian brethren that no...I refuse to be Indian M.D. 8 billion and 1. That perhaps we, as a people, have worth even without lab coat and stethoscope. However, after a few months, I realized my mistake. Within the indian network, all established tools of the MAN, who live to make Mother India proud, and have led distinguished careers in the accepted fields of medicine, engineering, and...alright there's nothing else)...must do one last thing. As part of their contract with Satan, they must spread their gospel of hardwork and sacrifice to the next generation, especially those wayward ones who are on the cusp of doing something really stupid...like go to law school.
OUI sat back in his chair, blinking owlishly at me as if he couldn't even believe that I would consider another career....and insult the legacy of all pre-meds, who had probably studied in this very coffee shop until they died from fatigue and carpal tunnel syndrome.
OUI: "What? No, no that's not good. You should-,"
Me: "Go to med school. Right, are you a doctor?"
OUI slumped in his chair a little at the question, and shook his head with a heavy sigh.
OUI: "No, I'm just a biochemist at UPMC."
Oh...For shame! He went on to explain how he had wanted to become a doctor, but then got waylaid by research opportunities and found himself with a cushy job at UPMC as a scientist. This, however, had done nothing to quell the desire to become a doctor. I felt for him, I really did. Or, rather, I did until he fixed his Sauron-eye on me and cleared his throat. Uh oh. The speech....
OUI: "You are already into biology, why stop now?" Because i'm SICK of it?
He continued, unperturbed by my growing lack of interest in the conversation.. "You will get lots of money if you get a job at the university. Enough to buy a house and a car after residency, and then..."
I laughed weakly. I didn't want to offend the guy, given that he was older than me, and Indian....and reminded me of one of those well-intentioned, but damn annoying "uncles" that are ubiquitous at weddings. I mentally decided that arguing for the autonomy of indian kids to decide careers was a conversation best saved for ...Armageddon. I definatley wasn't in the mood.
Me: "Well, yeah. I guess that makes sense."
He weighs my answer and nods approvingly. "You are so studious," he remarks after a delicious two minutes of silence, taking in the mountain of notes and my three highlighters. Excellent, I'm so glad you approve Uncle...now can I get some freaking work done? Apparently not.
OUI: "What part of India your parents come from?"
Me: "Madras."
OUI nearly spilt his coffee then.
OUI: "Me too!" At this point, he said in Tamil, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I have to admit, it was pretty damn cool. There's something wonderful about being in a city with such a negligible population of Indians, and bust out a language that's completely unique. Also, I got secret pleasure out of the dirty looks that this sorority chick kept shooting us. In any case, thankfully, I knew how to say that I could understand him but had the conversational ability of an autistic six year old (cough roughly translated). This didn't seem to dim his enthusiasm in the least, and for a few moments, he rambled on. I told him to only speak in Tamil because I was trying to improve, and he was ecstatic to comply. I should add, that this is the only point in the conversation where I didn't want to hit him with a blunt object.
After a little while, I politely turned back to my studies. But OUI wasn't having it... two minutes later, he leaned forward and in english said,
"So are you a good Indian girl or a bad Indian girl?"
This, ladies and gents, was a true WTF moment. What exactly was he asking? I was to baffled to manage anything except "..What?" OUI went on to describe how, since he'd moved from India a year ago, he'd heard stories of Indian girls engaged in all sorts of vile debauchery! Living with boys! Sometimes going out to social situations unaccompanied by a male relative!!! I felt that now would not be an opportune time to explain my own apartment situation. Hell, I didn't want to be responsible for him having a stroke.
Me; "Well...uh, good...I guess."
OUI: "Good, good...you study a lot. You will make a good doctor." God I hope this guy never runs into my parents... "Do you know how to make Indian food?"
Me: "Sort of. I can follow a recipe, most of the time."
OUI: "It's very important, you should practice. When you get married..."
Oh wow, the bile is coming up mighty fast.
Me: "I'm only 20." Ha! Preemptive strike!
OUI: "Once you get to medical school. Lots of Indians, you know?" He gave me a conspiratorial wink. Gee, should I transform into a "bad Indian girl" to trap myself a doc?
Me: "There are lots of other guys too. White. Mexican. Black." I enunciated the last one for added shock value. It worked, he mopped his brow with the Starbucks napkin, fixing me with a piercing look. At that point, he must've decided that continuing the conversation would shatter his illusions of Little Indian Girl on the Prairie... and so, at long last he stood up.
OUI: "Well, Nina, I'm sure I'll be seeing you here again. This was a lot of fun."
Oh yeah, but in the future we should just save time and roll around on gravel for a couple hours.
And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the flesh-tearing ice-storm (okay, so it was mild weather yesterday... nothing wrong with some minor embellishments), to continue his crusade.
In the words of Ned Flanders, "God speed, little doodle."
Quote of the Day:
Dr. Patel: "I will not tolerate this business from you any longer. You have one more interview tomorrow morning, and if I hear from Dr. Wein that you are anything short of spectacular, I'll completely cut you off."
Kumar: "Dad, come on."
Dr. Patel: "Daddy is not coming on anything!"
Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
But ahh...today, I return, prepared to communicate the sheer weirdness of a conversation I had with a complete stranger, in the stinking pit of corporate greed that is Starbucks. The morning (or..rather afternoon. I really need to stop waking up at 2pm. Damn spring break) started like any other... Having regrettably spotted the "weird Moroccan guy" (more on this at a later date perhaps) in the freakishly large plate glass window of Caribou Coffee (what a bizarre name for a cafe...), I strolled into Starbucks and did my usual six point inspection of all choice studying locations.
The only suitable place was the plush chair...seated directly across from a middle-aged Indian man. Uh oh. Don't get me wrong, I love catching up on the merry old days of post-colonial India as much as the next person, but I'm one of those strange crazzzzy people that come to cafes to work. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I just walked into Kiva Han for the express purpose of accosting some stranger and forcing them into meaningless small talk. Clearly, others don't share my view.
Within minutes, even my characteristic studying pose complete with glazed look and music blasting did nothing to discourage the Old Uncle India (OUI...gotta love my acronyms) from the relentless pursuit of empty conversation. Okay, perhaps not completely empty....it was full of that delightful brand of life advice that is trite, presumptuous, and completely unasked for. I'm going to recount this descent into the Twilight Zone as best as I can.
Perhaps to aid you all in reliving this with me...I should add that this guy sounded like Apu. I think that's one of the only reasons I stayed as long as I did...hilarious. Oh you want a visual too huh? Thinning hair, a paunch caused no doubt by costant samosa consumption, and thick glasses. oh yeah...HOT. Cough, anyway, on with the story...
OUI: "So...you from India."
Me: "Nope." One word answers are good right? He seemed nice enough but I was 13 pages into the exciting world of renal physiology... But OUI looked so lost and confused by my answer, much like the scores of white people who I categorically refuse to give a satisfactory answer to when they ask where I'm from. I do so on principle....not beause it's incredibly fun to annoy them...okay fine, a little of both. Anyway, I felt sorry for him, and added "My parents are from India."
OUI brightened up like it was Diwali! He gave me a sage nod like Yoda as if to say "See, you cannot fool me."
OUI: "What are you studying now?"
Me: "Biology."
OUI: "Oh good good, that is good. When are you going to medical school?"
Uh....right after I swallow glass.
Me: "Um..I haven't really decided...it's medical school...or ...(mumble) law school."
I know what you're thinking...coward! Okay, so ever since I dumped pre-med I've taken some sort of perverse joy in informing all my nosy Indian brethren that no...I refuse to be Indian M.D. 8 billion and 1. That perhaps we, as a people, have worth even without lab coat and stethoscope. However, after a few months, I realized my mistake. Within the indian network, all established tools of the MAN, who live to make Mother India proud, and have led distinguished careers in the accepted fields of medicine, engineering, and...alright there's nothing else)...must do one last thing. As part of their contract with Satan, they must spread their gospel of hardwork and sacrifice to the next generation, especially those wayward ones who are on the cusp of doing something really stupid...like go to law school.
OUI sat back in his chair, blinking owlishly at me as if he couldn't even believe that I would consider another career....and insult the legacy of all pre-meds, who had probably studied in this very coffee shop until they died from fatigue and carpal tunnel syndrome.
OUI: "What? No, no that's not good. You should-,"
Me: "Go to med school. Right, are you a doctor?"
OUI slumped in his chair a little at the question, and shook his head with a heavy sigh.
OUI: "No, I'm just a biochemist at UPMC."
Oh...For shame! He went on to explain how he had wanted to become a doctor, but then got waylaid by research opportunities and found himself with a cushy job at UPMC as a scientist. This, however, had done nothing to quell the desire to become a doctor. I felt for him, I really did. Or, rather, I did until he fixed his Sauron-eye on me and cleared his throat. Uh oh. The speech....
OUI: "You are already into biology, why stop now?" Because i'm SICK of it?
He continued, unperturbed by my growing lack of interest in the conversation.. "You will get lots of money if you get a job at the university. Enough to buy a house and a car after residency, and then..."
I laughed weakly. I didn't want to offend the guy, given that he was older than me, and Indian....and reminded me of one of those well-intentioned, but damn annoying "uncles" that are ubiquitous at weddings. I mentally decided that arguing for the autonomy of indian kids to decide careers was a conversation best saved for ...Armageddon. I definatley wasn't in the mood.
Me: "Well, yeah. I guess that makes sense."
He weighs my answer and nods approvingly. "You are so studious," he remarks after a delicious two minutes of silence, taking in the mountain of notes and my three highlighters. Excellent, I'm so glad you approve Uncle...now can I get some freaking work done? Apparently not.
OUI: "What part of India your parents come from?"
Me: "Madras."
OUI nearly spilt his coffee then.
OUI: "Me too!" At this point, he said in Tamil, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I have to admit, it was pretty damn cool. There's something wonderful about being in a city with such a negligible population of Indians, and bust out a language that's completely unique. Also, I got secret pleasure out of the dirty looks that this sorority chick kept shooting us. In any case, thankfully, I knew how to say that I could understand him but had the conversational ability of an autistic six year old (cough roughly translated). This didn't seem to dim his enthusiasm in the least, and for a few moments, he rambled on. I told him to only speak in Tamil because I was trying to improve, and he was ecstatic to comply. I should add, that this is the only point in the conversation where I didn't want to hit him with a blunt object.
After a little while, I politely turned back to my studies. But OUI wasn't having it... two minutes later, he leaned forward and in english said,
"So are you a good Indian girl or a bad Indian girl?"
This, ladies and gents, was a true WTF moment. What exactly was he asking? I was to baffled to manage anything except "..What?" OUI went on to describe how, since he'd moved from India a year ago, he'd heard stories of Indian girls engaged in all sorts of vile debauchery! Living with boys! Sometimes going out to social situations unaccompanied by a male relative!!! I felt that now would not be an opportune time to explain my own apartment situation. Hell, I didn't want to be responsible for him having a stroke.
Me; "Well...uh, good...I guess."
OUI: "Good, good...you study a lot. You will make a good doctor." God I hope this guy never runs into my parents... "Do you know how to make Indian food?"
Me: "Sort of. I can follow a recipe, most of the time."
OUI: "It's very important, you should practice. When you get married..."
Oh wow, the bile is coming up mighty fast.
Me: "I'm only 20." Ha! Preemptive strike!
OUI: "Once you get to medical school. Lots of Indians, you know?" He gave me a conspiratorial wink. Gee, should I transform into a "bad Indian girl" to trap myself a doc?
Me: "There are lots of other guys too. White. Mexican. Black." I enunciated the last one for added shock value. It worked, he mopped his brow with the Starbucks napkin, fixing me with a piercing look. At that point, he must've decided that continuing the conversation would shatter his illusions of Little Indian Girl on the Prairie... and so, at long last he stood up.
OUI: "Well, Nina, I'm sure I'll be seeing you here again. This was a lot of fun."
Oh yeah, but in the future we should just save time and roll around on gravel for a couple hours.
And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the flesh-tearing ice-storm (okay, so it was mild weather yesterday... nothing wrong with some minor embellishments), to continue his crusade.
In the words of Ned Flanders, "God speed, little doodle."
Quote of the Day:
Dr. Patel: "I will not tolerate this business from you any longer. You have one more interview tomorrow morning, and if I hear from Dr. Wein that you are anything short of spectacular, I'll completely cut you off."
Kumar: "Dad, come on."
Dr. Patel: "Daddy is not coming on anything!"
Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
