Animals on a balanced diet

My first day in the US and I have to admit that the culture shock is the greatest I ever experienced. No Asian country surprised me as much as this one did, and it's only just a beginning. The thing is: when going to the East, I expected things to be very different, so when they turned out different indeed, it came as no surprise. But going to the west, I thought it will be... Western, just as Europe, only bigger.
And now I'm totally flabbergasted. It's not like Europe, only bigger. It's weird. It's completely delirious. It's like all those folks have been waiting for Godot all their lives.
"For your safety the lifeguard will not maintain eye contact when talking to you". "Staff must wash hands" (in the toilet at a restaurant) "The animals in our care are on a well-balanced diet. Thank you for helping us keep them healthy by not sharing food meant for people." Yes, the lifeguard will make sure other swimmers' life is safe, too, even if he's currently scolding you for crossing a line you shouldn't cross, the staff at a restaurant will take care not to infect your food with their bacteria and the animals at an attraction park are on a balanced diet. But you, you can eat yourself slowly to death, drench your body fat in refill coke, all bacteria-free and with a smile on the staff's face for you not to suspect anything. The death will not be immediate, no worries. Nobody will be sued.

The environment around is good, but I got the impression that to the Americans it is not good enough. That's why they perpetually try to make some improvementst: lock the warm, fresh air inside and cool it so much that the unacustommed guests from the old continent grab their sweaters. Eating outside on a warm evening? Have you at all calcated the risks? Uncontrolled bacteria flying around, and straight into your soup, causing sudden death?
They seem to have a preference for the slow variety here. "Fasr food, slow death" would be a good slogan. Just as food, it gives comfort.
Waiting for Godot needs time, too. If you die suddenly, you won't meet him. But if you slowly grow bigger and bigger, you won't even notice the moment when your body stopped fitting into one beach chair, but started flooding the neighbouring ones.
One more coke and a couple of donuts. Another refill. A sundae to cool down. Then a coke. And then it is Godot himself who appears in a revelation of my fat-drenched brain: US is like a room with closed curtains and all lights on on a sunny day. Better avoid the unpredictable and have your own sun the way you want it.
This was my epiphany on the first day in the Sunny State. I have to be excused for jumping to conclusions: Columbus, too, thought what he found was India.

No box of chocolates

Of all the words that express probability in English my absolute favourite is “perhaps”. Certainly “perhaps”. It’s even “perhaps” for sure. “Perhaps” without any doubt. 
That’s because “probably” sounds too bubbly. It makes me think of someone who cannot swim, but has fallen off a boat, and half-drowning, exclaims “Probably, I’ll be dead in a minute”. Possibly in a less composed manner than it looks on paper though. 

“Maybe” is fine, but sounds a little childish, and inevitably brings “Maybe a baby” to my mind, while in my particular case is rather “maybe not”.
“Possibly” sounds too hissing. I don’t trust it, just as I don’t trust snakes. “Plausibly”, in turn, is too upscale. Which non-native speaker would use it in a conversation? “Doubtless”, on the other hand, leaves no doubt. I like to doubt. Lack of doubt smells of superficiality, while I prefer depths, except perhaps those of despair. 

But “perhaps” is so deliciously hesitant. After the initial “pe”, which could almost be a param-pam-pam, if you repeat it, it stops for a fraction of a second, as if preparing a surprise. And then, all of a sudden, there comes the funny “haps”, as if a dog snapped his mouth, or someone clapped a box shut the moment you were about to pick a chocolate. “Perhaps” assures me that life is none. No box of chocolates, I mean, “you never know what you’re gonna get”- as said a certain Forrest with considerable shares in a fruit company. 
It might be this. Or it might be that. Or yet something else. Without doubt.

I love “perhaps” for the surprise, the uncertainty and the playfulness it contains, all in one word. Absolute certitudes lead to failure or cruelty. I value people who don’t claim to have exclusive rights as far as the truth goes. 

And now, perhaps, I’ll be gone for two weeks. Perhaps it will rain, perhaps it won’t. Whatever the weather, I hope our spirits will be bubbly, but not drowning. Probably. Maybe. Plausibly. No snakes, please. 

Cats at Hannover

When things are really bad – celebrate, as they can only get better. If they don’t, and instead of getting better, they get worse - it simply means they weren’t bad enough yet.
The week before I went to Hannover Messe, for an event that seemed like a rest from life. For one whole week, I was doing anything but the things that  belong in mine:

-          Getting up at 6.00 instead of the usual 7.45 just in time to get the kids to school when the bell rings,

-          Standing all day instead of sitting down (by the way, that’s probably the reason why a Stand is called a Stand),

-          Practicing box-carrying and unpacking as the main sports, instead of some other activities inspired by eastern-philosophy, and practised on a thin mat

-          Being nice all day, instead of being the usual leader of the one-person’s Witch Program,

-          Wearing a crisp-ironed, white shirt, instead of the usual black sweater,

-          Forgetting about jeans

-          And many other unusual things, but after all, isn’t holiday about doing things you don’t usually do?

This rest from life made me so exhausted, that I had to take 2 days in life to recover.
This is not how I pictured this. After 7 days on the booth, my feet were in a state of despair. Cats are much better equipped to become booth personnel, they namely have foot cushions. People don’t. It’s a true a gap in the market: an agency hiring cats to do the exhibitions. At least the standing part of them. There’s just one little obstacle, but I guess it can be overcome with proper training: you surely want the cats you hired to stand on your booth, and not go talk to the competitors about the price hike of cat food.

Coming back to where I started: I thought my feet couldn’t get any worse by the moment I smashed my little toe against the bed frame, when back in life. It turned all black and blue (the toe, not the frame), it hurts terribly now and makes me consider flip-flops. Now I can celebrate. Now I know I’ve reached the bottom, in the non-literal sense of the word. It could have been literal though if our STAND was called a SIT.

And the moment I started to celebrate, confident that the bottom has been reached, and nothing worse than feet that is killing and badly bruised can happen to me, I heard that perhaps I'll be fired, for saying "Yes, sir" in a most inappropriate moment. So now I'm trying to imagine what could be worse for a man than hearing "Yes, sir" in a most inappropriate moment and concluded that "Yes, madam" would do the trick. I'll try it next time.