Now that I had added the term “French Fries” to my active American vocabulary, I felt empowered to confidently place an order at McDonald’s (Read What’s French about the French Fries).
As I cruised back home from work the following day, I decided to revisit the same McDonald’s. I drove up to the giant panel at the drive-through, casting a brief glance at the menu before awaiting the attendant’s inquiry.
“May I take your order, sir?” the attendant inquired, as per usual.
“Yes! I’ll have a cheeseburger and…a large French Fries!” I responded, eagerly anticipating the attendant’s request for clarification, as my thick Indian accent often proved difficult for Americans to comprehend.
“Sure. Would there be anything else?” She queried.
“Oh, My God! She grasped my request on the first attempt!” I couldn’t believe I had nailed it this time, not only with my accent but also with the French Fries term! Internally, I was exuberant on the triumph, though I maintained composure.
“That’s all for me, thank you,” I confirmed, proceeding to the payment window. Still elated, I remained grinning ear to ear, even though I realized my joyous demeanor may have seemed peculiar to the attendant. After all, I was simply picking up an order, not soliciting a date. A smile, I supposed, was the most effective antidote to this awkward situation.
I picked up my order and reached home. Anyoso, as usual, was in her bed engrossed in a book.
I was already starving so without wasting a moment, I sat on the couch and eagerly unwrapped my cheeseburger, savoring its heavenly aroma. Lost in the moment, I took my first bite and relished it with my eyes shut, savoring every morsel.
While I was still romancing with the burger, my trance was abruptly interrupted by my phone ringing. It was a colleague who, like me, was Indian and had relocated to the United States several years prior.
“Dude, I was thinking of going out for dinner. Would you like to join me?” he queried.
“Just a tad late. I just picked up a cheeseburger from McDonald’s,” I responded, taking another bite of my burger.
“A cheeseburger? From McDonald’s?” he queried, astonished.
“Yeah. Why?” I sensed something was wrong. I had already stopped chewing as I feared the worst.
“I thought you don’t eat beef?” He remarked.
“Beef? What the hell are you talking about?” I was panicky.
“The patty, man! The patty! It’s beef,” he yelled.
My stomach began to churn, and I nearly retched on the couch. It felt like the ground beneath me had disappeared. I was at a loss for words, overcome by panic.
“Blarrghhh…” I heaved, making my way to the bathroom to throw up. I’m sure my colleague could hear my distress since I didn’t bother hanging up when I fled. For the next ten minutes, I desperately attempted to expel my guts out. Anyoso witnessed my agony and came to check on me.
“Are you okay?” she asked, knocking on the bathroom door.
“Yeah…just…give me a minute…blarrghhh,” I managed to utter between heaves, my fingers digging in as deep into the throat as they could.
When I realized I couldn’t purge anything anymore, I emerged from the bathroom, feeling sick to my core.
“Those scoundrels deceived me! They claimed it was a cheeseburger!” I bemoaned to Anyoso, close to tears.
She erupted in a laughter to hear the story and only had one thing to say.
“Welcome to America.”
