The shampoo and conditioner that I brought from England ran out, so off I toddled to the local pharmacy. Chris’ Mom having provided us with all the general scrubs and washes so far, this was my first official visit to the store, and I thought I would just pick up a few things. If only it were that easy.
Once I have negotiated my way round the displays of garden furniture and hats, through the isles of sweets and to the back where hair-care is kept, I am confronted with row upon row of shampoo that I have never heard of. I am not super fussy when it comes to my hair, but I do like to know that it will be clean, soft and not covered in silicone. It is amazing what you take for granted, just living in the same place and slowly getting to know “things”.
After about an hour of squeezing bottles, sniffing liquids and reading tiny tiny print, I make my way to the toothbrush isle; “this should be simpler“, I think, naively.
The difference in products available, and American and British taste, made life most awkward when Chris and I decided to buy a car. I say (quite sensibly, I thought) “let’s buy a Ford”. They are made here, so should not be too expensive, and are reliable. So we look for a Focus five-door hatchback. They don’t sell them here. Here the Focus is a saloon car. Oh and “saloon” here is “sedan”, so that caused some confusion at the car-lot.
So we re-think. Suggestion are thrown at us: have you thought other makes - Chevrolet, Infinity, Scion. I am confused and just end up looking longingly at VWs, but they are stupidly expensive here.
As it turns out, the fact that the little zippy Ford Focus is not sold here as in its UK form is probably a life-saver. You have only to go on roads a couple of times before purchasing the biggest 4WD possible becomes the most desirable choice. It is not inconceivable that the vast majority of vehicles on the road could drive over a Smart-Car and not even notice. (I actually saw one plucky kid driving one here, once).
And what the deal with Hummers is, I do not know. One planted itself behind me yesterday, and I felt like I was being followed by Batman’s muscley and not-too-intellignet nemesis.
Liking hatchbacks for our general “throw stuff in the boot” attitude, and wanting something that may be able to put up a bit of a fight in a crash, we went for a Pontiac Vibe. Yeah, I know…
Just under “a car that won’t get crushed” on our list of requirements, came “air conditioning”. And it is a damn good thing too. But this was not evidently ever in question. The request was usually swept aside as if irrelevant and the salesman would proudly point out the “heated rear window”. Ok, but, as standard right? Wrong. Heated rear windows are a fairly new and exciting phenomenon in the American car market.
As amusing as it is to giggle at their quirks, life would sometimes just be much simpler if things ran here as they do in England: why can’t I buy Chorizo in it’s cured form (rather than raw and needing frying) in a country full of Spanish descendants; what does it matter whether I pay in “credit” or “debit” off my debit-card, when both ways take the money straight out of my bank account; and, please, is it really that difficult to make a chewing-gum packet that fits in my pocket?
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