Penang -- Week 12 -- Oh! Prunes!

THURSDAY, June 5th
No playgroup this week. Maybe because it's a holiday weekend? Missy called me a couple of days ago to tell me that she wouldn't come this week because her kid was sick and she didn't want to expose us. She said as if I was to relay the message to the others if they planned something. Odd that she'd call me. It's not like I'm the core person of the group. They see each other at church and stuff, and I'm definitely not hosting this week, I hosted last week. I know I'm insecure, but is it totally paranoid to think I'm being ousted? Did they not like my place? Did they just find out I'm atheist?

I decide to take advantage of my extra time and go to the market. On the way back, I swing by the organic store to get George some agave nectar and me some mustard. The grocery store near us only has kinds of mustard that I either don't care for or can't have. I do about 5 slow laps of this store that's only about two or three times the size of my walk-in closet in the States, and I study every shelf. They have all kinds of condiments, but no mustard. Odd. I ask the clerk, "Do you have any mustard?"
She has trouble imitating the word: "Mahh... stirrd."
"Mustard."
She tries again.
"Mustard. M-U-S--"
She thinks I want margarine.
"No, mustard. Like ketchup or mayonnaise."
She takes me to see the ketchup.
"No not ketchup. It's yellow..."
"No have."
"You don't have mustard, oh ok."
"M-U-S? No have."
"Yes, M-U-S-T-A-R-D."
"OOOoooooohh! MoooSTAHRD!! We call it mooSTAHRD here. No have." I know I'm imagining it, but I almost detect a little snobbery in her voice.
"Ok, thank you." Just for a split second, what I really want to say, and I know it's so awful, is that she's speaking my language and she should learn how to say it correctly! I know, I know, the urge passed sooo fast. The frustration from the conversation passed, my senses came back and I remembered that she has no more or less claim to the language than I do.

And when the grumpy moment has left me, I remember my Dad's experience in the Faroes in the 60s. It's a favorite family story. It basically goes pretty much the same as the story above, except he was looking for prunes and it ended with, "OOOoooooohh! Prunes!!" with a sort of why-didn't-you-say-so-in-the-first-place kind of tone.

George has a story today too. And since he still hasn't told his car accident stories, I will tell it.

So often, cashiers have trouble with our credit cards. They don't have the same chips that the local ones have. Well the gas station pumps are no different. Our Shell station pumps will not accept our credit cards. So, when George goes, he prepays inside, no problem. This time he goes to prepay, and the cashier says, "With those you pay out there," and gestures towards the pumps.
"I can't. They won't take my card, I have to pay here."
"Here cannot. Out there."
"I can pay here with the card, I've done it before."
"Here cannot."
"I can. I pay here every time I --" and she turns away from him to ignore him. This enrages George, who as you know is generally über calm. "Are you ignoring me? Do you not hear that I'm speaking to you? Do you not speak English?"

Gasp! I know, I had the same reaction. You have no idea how frustrating it can be in these situations. He gives up and goes elsewhere. It's later that he realizes that the reason she turned away is that, in the local culture, they cannot admit that they don't know how to do something. And they don't respond well to any kind of intensity. So this was her best way of handling it. It wasn't George's, he knows. But ugh! It's so very hard to stay calm sometimes.