International Scoldings

I passed out last night. This is of course not a surprising or unusual event in and of itself. The surprising part is that I hadn�t had even a hint of alcohol. We were sitting on the couch and watching a Strangers With Candy episode. Suddenly I woke up when SP called my name and I opened my eyes to the alarming sight of white leather immediately in front of my face. I wasn�t even lying down when I fell asleep, but I somehow delicately flopped from my sitting position to one where my face was plastered against the couch cushion without waking up. I�m such a fun Friday night date.

I can�t imagine what happened to cause that, but maybe it was due to having a long day yesterday of being yelled at by Iranians, Jews, Polish people, and god only knows who was driving on the Garden State Parkway.

I�m one of the lucky people who lived a basically happy and healthy life until the age of 23. It was at 23 that I moved to the Garden State of NJ and discovered that something hideous grows in the garden that causes my eyes to water, my head to pound, and my nose and throat to close up almost entirely. At 23 it wasn�t so bad, and a few Sudafed in the morning did the trick. At 24, it was slightly more trying, but I just escalated to 2 Advil Cold and Sinus in the morning and many more Sudafed throughout the day. Now I�m 25, and it feels like Hiroshima in my head every day. There�s just no over the counter medication equipped to deal with atomic devastation� I�ve looked.

I finally went to an allergist yesterday in the middle of the day. I live way up in Northern NJ and commute down to Paterson, just a few miles from the George Washington Bridge. I�m scared to death of driving in NJ. Partially because of the psycho, kamikaze, no-fault insurance carrying, SUV driving idiots out here, but mostly because I don�t know where the hell I am. I know that I�m going to get lost and wind up in a tunnel to Manhattan, and then I�ll just have to drive myself into a concrete wall and die. Having grown up for 18 years in a town where the maximum speed limit was 25 miles per hour, East Coast driving is still just a bit intimidating for me. So, I memorized how to drive from Northern NJ to Paterson NJ and back� if I have to go anywhere else, I let SP drive since he grew up here and has a keen understanding of the driving mentalities of the average Jersey resident that I�ll just never get. Where I grew up, it was considered rude to plow into someone�s car doing 95 on the interstate and drive away without so much as an apologetic hand wave. Here, people laugh when I tell them that.

Yesterday however, I had to climb into my battery powered Honda, and brave the wide open yet extremely congested road. I made it to the doctor�s office without too much trouble. Only two near miss accidents, but no actual collisions, and only 3 u-turns � not too shabby. The 5�2� Iranian doctor named Mohammad wearing white and baby blue striped pants that hadn�t been washed in several decades, proceeded to yell at me for having smoked for 5 years. I told him that I quit a year ago, but that did nothing to stop his onslaught� �the damage has been done.� As punishment, he stuck me, not so gently, with 15 needles and shoved a philips head screwdriver up my nose before giving me an industrial strength nose spray.

Getting from there back to work was not as successful for me. I thought I was heading the right way, until I started seeing signs reading, �You are entering Newark�. These signs are much less a welcome as they are a warning. For many white boys in slowly moving automobiles without a clue in their head about where they are, Newark is the end of the road� once you enter, you�ll never leave again. Anyone who thinks Harlem is rough has no idea. I managed through my tears of panic to see a sign for a highway I semi-recognized, and I got back to work. An hour later than I�d imagined, but I got back none-the less.

Waiting for me was a rowdy line of 15 characters with questions that had circled my cubicle with pitchforks and torches and started chanting, �death to the homo�. Don�t be fooled by the thick glasses and pocket protectors, actuaries can be vicious sons of bitches. Somehow I�ve become the answer-guy at work and everyone has come to the understanding that it�s easier to have me do their work than to sit and think for themselves. I love training people, and I love being the answer-guy, but this has morphed into a situation where people no longer say thank you, and they no longer think that I�m doing something nice by putting down my own work to do theirs. Now they demand it. If I call in sick, I get phone calls at home from the productive people, and I return to realize that the less productive decided not to do any work until I got back to do it for them. I wouldn�t mind that much, except I get paid less than most of them do. The most aggressive questioner has been my Polish coworker, who has done absolutely nothing to disprove the stereotype. He got so confused and angry when I told him that I wouldn�t be able to do a 6 hour project of his in the next two hours. �Well, why not?� Luckily I didn�t have to finish explaining that one before my Jewish boss came over to start screaming about me being gone for so long at the doctor�s office. This guy, I love. But he gets a little worked up on Fridays when work needs to get done and he wants to get home before the Sabbath begins.

Despite the trials and tribulations, I love living out here. I love interacting with so many cultures every day. My parents grew up in LA, but a few years before I was born, they moved to a small, white-bread mountain town in Colorado, not at all unlike South Park. I was 12 before I met an Asian person, and I was 16 before I had a black friend. I was 19 before I spoke to someone who was willing to say they were gay � it was the day I lost my virginity. Hmmm. I never thought of it like that before. Maybe it�s a good thing I was exposed to things so slowly. I�m still seeing something new to me for the first time everyday, so while I might look stupid and ignorant, at least life is still interesting for me. Now if I could just learn how to drive, I might spend more time in Manhattan and really get an education. But if I know me, I�ll probably just end up driving the familiar route home and get my education like most of us do, by turning on the TV.