Do You Know Starbuck's Code? A Reverse Culture Shock Tale

I'm learning new code in the U.S., Starbucks code. When I say that I don't mean Starbuck's beverage language like a tall Chocolate Dalmatian, I mean the Starbucks' patron code. 

Today while waiting for an appointment, I hunkered down to work at a nearby Starbucks. It was here that I was reminded of the patron code. Restroom code. Restroom code is where you are approached by a patron sitting near you who politely asks the small favor, "Can you watch my things while I use the restroom?" 

I'd been sitting at my table today, sipping my grande caramel macchiato with almond milk for about an hour when a nearby female patron asked me for this favor. I obliged but was taken back when she asked. I don't think it's rude or asking too much; it's just that I haven't lived within this culture for a while. I moved back to the U.S. in August after living overseas for ten years. As my new Starbucks' friend used the facilities, I pondered why this question, this favor, took me by surprise. 

In Prague, where I lived for the past four years, we didn't have this same code. If you needed to use the restroom, you packed everything up and took your things with you. Granted, I didn't visit Starbucks in Prague frequently for a few reasons. These included the fantastic cafe culture in my neighborhood, pickpocketing, and Starbucks' prices compared to local cafe prices (local cafes usually had better coffee too), it's just you'd never ask a stranger this favor there. 

It was about this time when my Starbucks' BFF returned. She smiled and said, "Thanks so much. Happy to repay the favor for you."

And about 10 minutes later, I took her up on it. It felt a bit strange, but it was so delightful to be able to leave my things at my table and not worry about them because I knew she would be watching them for me. 

Reverse culture shock is a funny thing because I never know when it'll strike. Today it happened at Starbucks. 

The Custard Is Always Worth It

The sunshine and thermometer readings brought out the crowd tonight at our local custard shop. Once in the line, however, we all were surprised by the wind. It slid through our clothing and engulfed those who had braved the night in shorts. I was grateful I grabbed my oatmeal stocking cap before I left. Even if because psychologically, I'm sure the furry ball on top adds extra warmth to my head.  

As we waited impatiently in the queue, I observed my fellow customers:

• shuffling,
• jumping, 
• dancing,
• complaining,
• retreating, 
• cuddling, and
• swaying

to prevent the cold from seeping into our bones, which had warmed up during the day.

Whatever action they chose to battle the chill, their wait was worth it. The custard is always worth it.

English Burst my Language Bubble: A Repatriation Poem

Bom dia.

Namaste.

Ahoj.

Hello.

For two years, I floated in Portuguese.

Tudo bom? (How are you?)

Tudo bem. (I'm good.)

Each morning 

when I entered my school campus in Brazil, 

the security guards and I 

exchanged these smiley greetings.

For four years, I zoomed around India.

Bus. (Stop.)

Bus. Bus! (Stop right now because this is the shop I want to visit.)

Each day 

as I buzzed 

around Mumbai in a rickshaw, 

I knew I needed to lean forward 

so I could see out and tell

the rickshaw driver 

to stop as he approached my destination.

For four years, I dined in Prague.

Dobrou chut' (Enjoy your meal.)

Na zdraví. (Cheers.)

Each day

as I ate lunch 

or enjoyed a Friday Happy Hour with my friends,

we wished each other well

as we shared food and time

together.

Outside these small moments,

I lived in a bubble.

Understanding some.

Using the Google Translate app on my phone.

Reading labels.

Making guesses.

Language became background noise

when I didn't have enough.

I lived in an English language bubble.

Choosing when it formed.

Choosing when I popped it.

Six months ago, 

English burst my language bubble.

My return to Chicago

popped it.

Some days, I hear

the everyday conversations 

of families at the grocery store

about which aisle contains 

an ingredient for tonight's dinner.

These are the moments living 

outside the bubble 

guides joy into my heart.

Some days I hear

families in disagreement

over big topics.

Or I turn on the car radio 

where I'm greeted by 

the weekend's violence.

These are the moments living

outside the bubble

my head feels overwhelmed.

My language bubble

wasn't made of gum so

I can't blow one again.

Instead, it was like a soap 

bubble floating into

the air.

My language bubble burst.

Waiting Room Humor

Being in the U.S., I find doctor's waiting rooms always more interesting than those I wait in abroad. Why? My fellow patients' conversations and the ability to understand the nuisances of English and American humor.

Two stories from my waiting room time this week.

1. Changes
A man and woman who were in their late 70s entered. While he was checking in for his appointment, the nurse asked him the usual questions, "Has any of your personal information changed since your last visit? Insurance? Addresses?"

"No, I was just here last year," he replied.

"Actually sir, you were last here 6 years ago."

Laughing he responded, "Well, then yeah, a lot has changed."

The gentleman spent a bit of time reviewing his paperwork and then came to sit by his wife who was reading a Woman's Day Magazine.

As he sat down, he said, "So, the last time I was here was 6 years ago."

She nodded.

"And you came with me."

Another nod.

"But then you were listed as my friend."

"Oh," she said with a sly smile.

"So I crossed that out and wrote bossy wife. Figure that way they'll know it's you."

They both chuckled. She shook her head and looked back down to her reading as he kissed her left cheek.

2. Aging
A women, I'm guessing was in her late 50s, went over to the magazine table that all doctors' waiting room offices have. She picked up the magazine on the top of the stack.

She chose People.

"I won't know any of the people in this magazine. Not one. That's how I knew I was getting old, when I didn't recognize anyone," she chuckled.

I smiled at her.

"Every time I read one, I go home and ask my husband if he knows who these celebrities are and he'll answer, 'Who? No idea.' That always makes me feel better to know he's old too."

We laughed.

Waiting rooms always test your patience but this week they also gave me a few laughs.