There are still nights when I wake up screaming “Whatever”. I’m usually standing at a counter, with a glass separating me from lots of food, and a guy in uniform and cap staring down at me, shouting impatiently “White or wheat?” I don’t get the question despite leaning over and straining my ears. The variation to the dream is the last question, which changes to “regular or footlong”, “plain or toasted”, “American, Swiss or Provolone?”, “honey-mustard or ranch?”, “for here or to go?” and “credit or debit?” The other parts remain the same – the intense impatience in the set of eyes under the cap, matched by an equally intense fear in mine, my incessant mumbling of “Could you please repeat that?”, a realization that the entire world has stopped lunch just to hear me ordering food, and finally the hunger (oh the hunger) following the attendance of several graduate course lectures after a sleepless night of assignments. And yes, I wake up screaming “Whatever”.
Of course that’s not how it played out in reality during those early months after I first came to this country. “Whatever” was still not a common gesture, and definitely not part of the just-landed-Indian-grad-student vocabulary. Moreover, several generations of fear of the uniform – unfounded, really, considering how little power the uniform bestows upon the wearer in India (unless it’s made of khadi, that is) – rendered the tongue incapable of uttering anything remotely disrespectful, so that “Whatever” was ruled out. Eventually the mumbling and repeating would help in the end, however, and would leave me standing euphoric with the resulting shredded vegetables and bread (plain of course, I wouldn’t dare wait during the toasting process and give the guy a few additional minutes to think of other questions).
The problem, of course, was to understand the American accent, followed by understanding the crux of the question, and then offering an intelligent reply. The last of which would then be met with a “huh?” due to the similarly broken process of Indian-to-American English translation on the other side of the glass. What typically threw me off was why, when there is a menu up there, couldn’t I just order something and get it without actually have to spell the recipe? I mean you might as well pay me and not the guy with the cap.
But looking back, I cannot think of a better substitute to those Subway lunches in getting a crash course in American English. And culture, to think of it. I mean once you know how to order cheese, pay with credit and end the conversation with “Whatever”, what’s more to learn?
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