Americans, they so mean

I got a job. Sort of. Last week my dad woke me up in the morning to tell me he wants me to come to his office, fill out a job application, and start manning the phones. Like on that day, good grief. And so here I am, at my dad’s place of business which is barely over a year old and which I helped start up last year, sitting at the computer and waiting to take down phone calls. While I am fully more than happy to help out my father and help his business grow, I feel a little odd working for him. It’s like I’m not really making my own money if I’m being paid by my own dad. But I’ve got nothing else to do, and I haven’t been able to do work for Demand Studios in a while since there’s slim pickings for actual do-able articles, so any form of income is better than none, right?

On another note, I’ve been dreaming a lot lately about either going back to Costa Rica (as in planning a trip) or actually being in there again. Various members of my host family keep appearing, and my intense penchant for popular Latin music (hellooooooooo, Prince Royce) has yet to waver. This can only mean one thing…I must go back, haha. Where I’m going to find the funds to do that, I still don’t know, considering all my graduation money went down the drain into paying bills, old apartment rent, etc. I think I’ve mentioned all this before.

One thing I miss about Costa Rica is the amazingly generous hospitality and friendliness. And I don’t just mean my host family and school — I mean everyone. For example, last entry I mentioned that I went out to the bars in Wrigleyville a couple weekends ago. What I didn’t mention was that we ended up getting kicked out after my friend drank too much, blacked out and subsequently began throwing up on the floor of the bar (we were sitting at the tables in the back). Every employee that passed by was giving us death stares, and it wasn’t until a bartender cried out “Oh, heeeeeell naww!” that I knew we were done for and had to go. No friendly “Is she okay?” queries, no looks of concern. Just straight up “Get her the fuck out of here” looks from people.

Now, let me recount the few times I threw up in Costa Rica last fall semester. Oh, there were a few, haha. I remember sitting at a table with my friends, drinking beer merrily and playing cards as usual. I ended up buying a bottle of rum that night (oh, how I miss the awesomely cheap bottle service in Costa Rica) and later throwing up on the floor (and also on one of my friends, but that’s another story). Our waiter that night promptly rushed over to me and told my friends I should probably go to the bathroom. He didn’t make any fuss, just cleaned everything up and kept checking to see if I was okay. In fact, the next time we were at that bar and he was working, he laughed at me and asked how I was doing. And in fact, he ended up befriending us and now we’re Facebook buddies and everything. On another occasion, we were at another bar that was hosting Ladies Night (my GOD, I miss those nights in Costa Rica even more), which translated into me and my friends getting very drunk very fast. Once again, I threw up on the floor and my friends debated about whether to take me home or not. But alas! We weren’t going to let our night end there. One friend told me I must be strong and rally through the night, so she sat me at the bar and asked the bartenders to give me something to help my…condition. They gave me some grenadine (how that’s supposed to help, I don’t know) and let me sit at the bar for a while. Eventually I stopped feeling like I was going to hurl, and somehow later ended up on top of the bar, dancing with a bartender nonetheless.

Goodness I miss Costa Rica. Americans can sometimes be just so unfriendly!

One thought on “Americans, they so mean”

  1. Your times going out in Costa Rica remind me of my nights out in China – oh, how I miss them so! It’s just not the same in the US! 🙁

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