There's Nothing Special About You

 

As the Regular Assistant to the Chancellor dies a little inside...

This Post is Explicit, Bitches

            I’m not much for acronyms.  I’d attribute that to a woefully dreadful job at one of the most tightly micromanaged corporations ever.  (If you’ve been there, you know what I’m talking about.)  Also, Facebook.  Facebook has ruined whatever redeeming qualities acronyms ever possessed.  So a combination of prolonged exposure to confusing overuse and unbearable misuse has left me with this knee-jerk negative reaction to most acronyms.

            That is not to say I don’t routinely (and enthusiastically) use the terms being substituted by the more commonly used acronyms.  And I don’t mean that I phonetically say the acronym—that is ludicrous.  Seriously.  That.  Is.  Ludicrous.  Why do people do that?

            By “more commonly used,” of course I’m referring to the WTFs and FMLs.  Often I find myself LMFAO, but since I don’t narrate my own non-verbal actions in real life quite as frequently as on Facebook, I don’t actually say, “laughing my fucking ass off!”  I just do… metaphorically.

            More than ever I’ve found the full-version abbreviations come out while I’m in Grenada.  Why?  Because the sorts of experiences you have in Grenada are so profoundly unexpected, your otherwise sharp mind is reduced to sawdust and you just say the first coherent statement that encompasses your dismay: What the fuck?

            The problem is America did not prepare me for Grenada.  Not at all.  Shame on America in all of its grande macchiato, $0.99 bargain bin, refunds with a smile, recognizable snack aisle, McFlurry, four-lane highways, even sidewalks, responsible pet owners, legal mace and adult toy store glory!  So I came to my foster home island with this bizarre idea that communication was a two-way street.

            This is a basic interaction you might expect when going to New York’s Finest Bagels on campus (some slight hyperbole included… for no charge!):

Hi!  Do you have deli cheese?

We have cheese.

Okay.  Do you have provolone?

No provolone.

Okay.  Do you have mozzarella?

No.

How about cheddar?

[nod]

Okay.  Do you have yellow or white?

[nod]

Great!  Can I have a quarter-pound of yellow cheddar?

No.

No?

No yellow.

Uh.  Okay.  What do you have?

Cheddar.

Right.  Do you have white cheddar, then?

[nod]

Let me get a quarter-pound of that.

No.

What?  Why?

Can’t sell a quarter-pound.

How about a half-pound?  Can you sell a half-pound?!

[nod]

Great.

[blank stare]

How much?

[mumble]

I’m sorry?

[incoherent] Monkey paw.

Wait.  How much?

No cheddar.

What are you talking about?

Sold out.

But you just said—

We’re closed.

You’re 24 hours!

Next!

            I’ve been here long enough that I’m starting to wonder if that is a normal conversation.  Maybe my turning and walking away dazedly, stringing what-the-fucks around me like Christmas tree lights is the wrong reaction.  Maybe, in Grenada, I just made a friend.  My response probably should’ve been a high five.  Do they high-five here?

            IMHO, IDK.  Prob, but TIG.  I mean, YOLO, k?  LOLs!

Buffy

Complacency in Grenada: You will Submit

            Grenada is not a country of great wealth.  Generally speaking, almost every local you meet is in some descending state of poverty.  With rampant destitution comes a definite lack of consumerism and demand.  This is basic economics, right?  It’s for this very reason that, at some point during your stay, you will need (define need) something that you simply cannot attain on the island.  If you are anything like the thousands of others before you, you will need many things that you won’t find on the island.  Of course the obvious reason for this—as alluded to above—is general supply and demand.  There’s not sufficient demand for many of the convenience and leisure items you’d like.  (Again, walk around Grenada, then define need.)

            So what happens when a small and temporary fraction of an impoverished country’s residents want and expect items or services that aren’t available?  Said fraction becomes petulant, defiant, and vengeful before finally fizzling out into reluctant complacence.

            Read this and think all that you want that you won’t ask for anything that isn’t available.  You will happily settle into the “simpler life” (how quaint that sounds before you’ve tried it) without complaint.  You will complain.  You will have one horrid, wretched day and want only one simple item—something, you’ll longingly remember, was carried at every convenient store back home—and it will not be anywhere on the island.  Then you’ll become the petulant, defiant, vengeful person you knew you would never become.

            Here’s the good news: you’ll get over it.  And you’ll become complacent.  Like all the other sheep that do their time here in Grenada, you’ll be defeated so much that you’ll stop recognizing the defeat and just start shrugging and saying cute little soliloquies like This is Grenada or What are you going to do or I guess that’s just how it goes here.  It’s not like you really needed that specific prescription medicine, right?  Whoops!  This is Grenada!

            The items that you can get your hands on are typically not offered by more than a couple vendors and those vendors are not usually right next to each other.  So, say you’re back home and you’re shopping at K-Mart.  Your favorite scent of body wash is available, but instead of buying it, you’re going to walk next door to Wal-Mart to see if it’s carried there for a lower price.  In Grenada, your favorite scent has never been available.  In fact, the only store in a ten-mile radius that carries body wash may only have two on the shelf (bottles, that is, not scents) and if you’re lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and grab one, you will pay twice as much for half the quantity and the cashier will give you so much attitude, you’ll wonder, despite knowing better, if you’d done something to offend her.  After the worst service in your life, instead of vowing to never return, you’ll keep coming back every week because you have no alternatives.  And what’s worse—if you get that cashier again, to try to avoid her nasty attitude, you’ll be embarrassingly gracious and overly generous.  And she’ll still be sneering at you the whole time.  But, I guess that’s just how it goes here.

Buffy

You Drive Me Crazy, Grenada

A word on driving customs in Grenada: F&%#

Or, okay. Maybe it's more like three words, starting with the letters W.T.F. First of all, if you are planning to get a car in Grenada, please see the very helpful and basic tips for driving which are located on the awesome SO's of SGU website.

Unfortunately, not many of the local drivers that I've encountered on this picturesque island paradise seem to have read this very helpful post. Or if they have, they laughed it off and then continued about their way of driving like vehicular manslaughter is some kind of epic drinking game.

Especially not the parts about honking as a friendly greeting as opposed to a "Hurry the #%$ up, because you're only going ten km/hr over the speed limit instead of twenty" signaling device.

Or the part about the hand signals. The one that looks like a one-winged goose can sometimes mean "go around me, I'm having a nice chat with this lovely teenage girl by the side of the highway" and sometimes it seems to mean "don't go around me, because my buddy Alvin is running to catch up with us from three blocks down the road and you might run him over." Or sometimes, it could mean "hey my armpits are a little sweaty."

Or the part where "L" stands for Learner. But it ALSO stands for "Look the #%$& out, because who the hell knows what those crazy kids are going to do in any given situation." (Like drive into the ditch next to KFC when they're supposed to be parallel parking, for instance.)

At any rate, I find myself using a lot of really colorful words when driving in Grenada. But that's nothing compared to the black streak I used to swear as a pedestrian after nearly being run down by Reggae Buses and random motorists. And I don't care what any website says, I DO NOT WANT TO BE RUN DOWN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD LIKE A STRAY GOAT. Period.

Also, don't ever expect the taxis or RB's to give you right of way. Ever.

Once again, you're welcome.

Cordelia