Crutches

I hate Walmart as much as any good farmers marketeering Peace Studies major. Naturally, I am enthralled with the idea of buying products directly from the producer or beneficiary (keyword: “idea”). But as a child of the Big Box Nation, I simply cannot help the awkward aversion that instinctually prevents me from approaching the vendors on the streets of Bogota. It’s not a language barrier, not a safety issue, and not even indifference (sometimes I really am interested in buying knock-off sunglasses for 5.000 pesos). It’s a gap between two distinct consumer cultures.

Our friend Karl calls my syndrome “alienation”--a state which I apparently have grown quite fond of. It wasn’t until I lived outside of Supermarketlandia that I realized the comfort I feel inside anonymous fluorescent aisles. I find myself missing the luxury of perusing brands of oatmeal, comparing prices, ingredients, and nutrition information without so much as a word from The Quaker Man pressuring me to buy one. The hairnetted ladies at Costco won’t utter more than a brief impersonal schpeel about their ravioli samples, even after I’ve gone back two or three times. But if I so much as raise my glance at the empananda stand, you can bet I will be personally called out and harangued all the way down the block-- “Oye mona (blonde)! Empanadas! Empandas! Para la gringa! A la orden!”

I flee. The express-lane self-checkout American doesn’t know how to handle actually speaking to a human while buying something.

To celebrate my first payday, I found myself sheepishly slipping through the automatic doors of El Exito--back into the consumer world I understand. Where things have prices (that aren’t based on your hair color). Where you can choose between sweetened and sugar free yogurt. Where the cashiers have change. And there were samples! The whole experience felt like cheating. But I secretly relished it.

...and it gets worse. I bought a food processor to make peanut butter.

What can I say? I like to have a few crutches when assimilating into a new culture.
1. Peanut butter. Check.
2. Exercise. There’s a park and a climbing wall only a few miles from where I live. Check.
3. Jon Stewart. I have high speed internet in my apartment. Check.

Now I am armed and ready to tackle whatever cultural challenges come my way. Bring in on.
(OK, I admit, sometimes I still have trouble focusing my eyes on people’s faces when their noses are only three inches away--this is deemed the appropriate speaking distance in Colombia. But I’m sure I will adjust eventually.)