I was summoned to visit a client in California. It was going to be a three week business trip; per diem set at 50 dollars, accommodation in Holiday Inn hotel, and provision for a rental car for the commute (only if I had previous driving experience in the US or Canada).
I was picked up by a prearranged cab at the airport that dropped me at the hotel. The drive from the airport to the hotel was a breeze.
“Why do these guys need so many lanes?” I wondered.
I even tried to clock a car that zoomed past my cab. I wondered if the tire of his car were even touching the road.
He must have been doing at least 100…and that’s miles per hour. I felt the adrenaline rush, a need for speed. So, I went up to HR as soon as I joined the office the next day,
“Good afternoon Madam, I would like access to a car for commute please.” I requested with a smile.
“Sure. Have you driven in the US before?” She asked.
“No. But I’ve driven in India.” I replied confidently.
“Oh. I’m sorry but that won’t work. We have automatic left-hand drive cars here unlike the stick-based right-hand drive in India.” She replied in disapproval.
“I have driven in Canada during my last overseas trip. Would that work?” I bluffed in a flash of brilliance. I was in no mood to let go of this chance to roar an American muscle car!
“Yeah…it’s the same. Okay, I will arrange the car for you today.” She replied without hesitation.
And sure she did. I was handed the keys of a gleaming red 2.2L Pontiac Sunfire, the most powerful car I had driven until then, the very next day. The engine roared like the MGM Grand lion (Coming from the land of Maruti 800, it sure felt like that!) when you hit the gas and I sure couldn’t wait to add miles to the beast.
Since I had bluffed about my left-hand driving experience, I drove cautiously.
“It’s a free right. It’s a free right.” I constantly reminded myself on the road.
But two days of new driving style cannot override years of an old habit. My worst fears were realized when I took a natural left turn instead of a right.
“You jackass! Watch where you’re going!” The driver of the oncoming car screamed at me, popping his head out from the window of his car.
“Free right…Free right…Shit, I made a mistake.” I was brought back from oblivion as I reminded myself in panic. My reflexes went into full thrust, foot on the brake, stick shifted to R, reversing the car a whole 20 yards before backing up into the parking lot. I took a few deep breaths to calm down before resuming driving, this time to the left. It did not end there, however. It took another instance of the same blunder, albeit at a bigger scale, just a few minutes later and this time on a highway before the “No Free Left” understanding was cemented into my head.
How far can you go for your craving?
When it came to spending the greenbacks, I was an Uncle Scrooge. After all, a dollar translated to 45 rupees. I had done my due diligence to bring enough cigarette packs to last me three weeks, but those calculations work only in the normal scheme of things. I was alone in my hotel room most of the time, so I smoked unusually more and landed up finishing all my packs within two weeks. There was still a week left before I returned to India. Cigarettes were expensive in the US, as much as ten times, at least from the smoking standard I maintained in India; and to make matter worse, they were sold in packs of twenty, unlike India where loose cigarettes are a norm.
So, I came up with an idea, as brilliant as the ones in past. I decided to pause smoking until I returned to India. Basically, a nicotine junkie decided to PAUSE smoking…know what I mean?
I was disillusioned.
The night I ran out of cigarettes, I slept early to avoid cravings. The plan was going well until my phone rang in the middle of the night. A colleague from India woke me up for an urgent client issue. I had lost my sleep by the time the call was over; then it hit me…an extreme nicotine craving! You will feel my pain if you smoke at least half a pack a day, a pack of twenty I mean. I decided to take a walk in the corridor hoping to find a smoker to borrow a cigarette.
Not a single soul.
It’s a universal law that when you crave for something and you don’t have it, the urgency of the need shoots through the roof. I was miserable. And I was desperate. Like a fish without water, and that is no exaggeration! But I lacked the spine to go to a gas station at 2 am to pick up a cigarette pack, for safety reasons (I had heard about shooting for an iPod shuffle just a few days ago); or buy it at an exorbitant
price for that matter. Moreover, I was done with the spending quota of the day after having had to unwilling to spend friggin’ 12 dollars for a burger for dinner that my taste buds rejected. I was already grieving for that superfluous treat.
A catch 22 situation right?
My Indian jugaad brain had kicked in full force, running at the speed of light to resolve the situation when it struck me that my neighbor occupying the next room kept his ashtray right outside his room. I went up to his ashtray and scrutinized for partially extinguished cigarettes but all I could find was butts, fully consumed till the ring marked on the cigarette just before the butt, to indicate a smokable area.
“This guy is a fuckin’ cheapskate!” I cussed.
I still managed to find a couple of butts that seemed to have a life of a puff or two remaining.
“cough cough*” I coughed violently for at least a minute before regaining my breath. I must have smoked the cotton inside the butt; there was hardly any tobacco left.
“This shit is gross!” I complained in distress but smoked them anyway to let me through the night. Did I have a choice?
That was the most disgusting thing I had ever done to myself and I had no intention to repeat the feat. I did buy a pack of cigarettes the very next day, albeit with a lot of guilt.
A date with the receptionist
It was a Friday evening and I had just returned to the hotel from work, ready to celebrate my last weekend in the US before my return to India. Two beers down and in high spirits, I headed out to pick up my usual dinner, a Subway sandwich.
“Good evening Sir!” The receptionist greeted me as I passed through the lobby. She was an African-American girl, about 5’10” feet tall,
probably in her late teens who braided her hair cornrow style.
“Hi, there! How are you?” I greeted her back.
“I’m fine, Sir! Hanging in there. How was your day?”
“It was great! In fact, the whole trip was great… and I’m all set to leave on Sunday night back to India.” I said.
“Oh wow! Did you come all the way from India? It must have been a long flight.”
“Yes indeed. A full nineteen hours. I was here on a three-week business trip.” I replied.
And then there was silence.
“Well, I was heading out to grab a sandwich for dinner. Would you like to join me?” I broke the ice.
“Oh, thank you so much but I already had my dinner.” She replied with a smile.
“Okay. How about a coffee then?” I made a swift proposition.
She turned around to look at the clock hanging on the wall and then turned back to me.
“Well, my shift ends at 11 pm. How about 11:15 pm? Would that work for you?”
“That’d work. Starbucks behind the hotel?” I proposed the place.
“Sounds good. See you then.” She acknowledged.
I raised my thumb in affirmation and headed out to grab my sandwich. Unknowingly I had asked her out on a date, and I was still unaware of it. I hadn’t done that before…I mean, sure I had a girlfriend in college, but it never required a formal proposition.
I reached Starbucks at sharp 11:15 pm where I found her already waiting for me.
“I’m sorry. Am I late?” I asked.
“No, no…the other girl showed up a little early, so I was able to get off work early.” She clarified with a smile.
She looked gorgeous in a black sequin dress, her hair well done…well, I guess she didn’t have to do much with the cornrows, and a tinge of mascara in her eyes.
We picked up our coffee and grabbed chairs out in the open. A clear sky, an abnormally large moon, and flickering stars like scattered moon dust were already my accomplices to make it a perfect night for a date…a phenomenon I was obviously still unaware of.
“So, what do you do?” was her first question as she brought the coffee cup close to her lips for the first sip.
“I’m a software engineer…I write code in C++” I replied as I picked up my cup.
“Great! And how do you like it here?” She asked.
“I love it here. You see I am here on a three-week business trip so I have only a B1/B2 visa, but I would like to move here to work so I have availed the services of this consultancy that is going to file an H1B visa for me. I’m still waiting for approval though…I expect it in about two
months…but I can’t start working before October 1st of this year due to H1B visa regulations…blah blah blah…so I’ll wait until then before I resign from the company I’m working with, in India however…blah blah blah…”
I blabbered my shit for so long, it bored her to death. She visibly resisted her yawn for as long as she could but that did not deter me from spitting out more BS.
“…and I hope to move here by the end of this year…but the only problem is…”
“I think it’s pretty late for me. My mom would be worried.” She interrupted looking at her wristwatch as it seemed like a distant possibility to her that I would ever stop spilling my garbage.
“…that my consultant wants me to join in January.” I could still manage to fizzle-finish my sentence despite her interruption.
“Oh right.” I continued pretending to look at my watch which clearly was not there on my wrist since I never wore one.
“Okay. We will complete our conversation some other time.” I concurred in a face-saving attempt.
I think it was clear to me by now that she was not there to hear my nonsense. I was too much of a thickhead to read the signs. Of course, we never connected again.
Two days later I returned to India. A few weeks after my return, I received the H1B approval notice. I think the only other time I was so happy to see a piece of paper was when I had written my first love letter to Sudha back in college…okay, let’s leave the rejection part aside from that incident for the moment. This approval notice was not just a piece of paper; this was a gateway to the land of greenbacks! A month later, I resigned from my current company and booked a one-way ticket to pursue what they call “An American Dream”.
