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The
International Writers Magazine: My First Taco Experience
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First
Encounters with Detroit
Erica Johansson
"Mummy,
I´m hungry. I want Mc Donald's." The young plump girl,
maybe five or six years old, seems sleepy but her determined voice
is enough to reach her mothers attention.
"Yes sweetheart, I know you're hungry. Charlie, can you look
for somewhere to stop please? Daddy will find a place soon sweaty."
"I want Mc Donald's now. I want Mc Donald's now." The
girl bounces up and down in the seat, repeating the four words
endlessly.
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Haven't they eaten
yet? It was only a few minutes since we left the airport; it's not especially
far to the Fowler Center from here.
The generous flight meal and the fact I had been awake since pre-dawn
made sleep sound like a more pleasant option. My previous flight record
was on three and a half hours to the Greek island Skiathos, quite a
difference from nine hours in the plane during this trip. Before departure
my dad worried Chicago O'Hare International Airport was too big and
told me to be careful because I wouldnt want to wander about and
miss the scheduled flight to Detroit.
By remaining calm at O'Hare and trusting my intuition I resolutely followed
the signs towards the right gate. It was easier than I thought. Even
though the airport is huge, the part I needed to pass through was not
even a fifth of its entirety. Consequently I reached my destination
without any hassle.
The moment I caught sight on the sweater with "The Fowler Center"
printed in capital letters on the shirt I knew it was him. He was squat,
had black thick hair and wore small glasses.
"Hi. You must be Erica. I'm Charlie, one of the staff members from
the Fowler Camp."
A handshake and some phrases of courtesy later we headed towards his
car with my crammed backpack. His wife and daughter occupied the back
seats but I didnt mind taking the front.
"I'm hungry mummy."
"I know honey. Daddy will stop somewhere. Next exit is a Wendy's
how
about that? And I know there's a Taco Bell within a few minutes."
The light voice was impatient.
"Mummy, I said I wanted Mc Donald's! I want Mc Donald's mum!"
A sudden silence hits the atmosphere. I rest my head against the window
and stare at the dark flat landscape as we head north. The fast food
chains rectangular neon signs are luminous along the highway. In a country
where numerous people suffer of obesity I find it perplexing to see
how the same people can indulge in Big Mac's, super sized sodas, fries
and other obvious unhealthy meals.
A friend to my dad had a project for his company's client in Detroit
a couple of months ago. He said he honestly found it difficult to eat
healthy while he lived there. Once I was told that Michigan is the state
with the most overweight people in America, but whether that is true
or not I dont know. Maybe the majority doesnt have the right
knowledge how to eat healthier, and the exploiting chains dont
exactly make things any better.
For a more comfortable position I lower the seat a bit and lose my eyes
to rest. I imagine how my summer in Michigan will turn out. Graduating
from high school and stay in Sweden over the summer as my classmates
planned wasnt an option. I wanted to see something new, preferably
cross an ocean on the way. Europe felt too close. The interview for
the au-pair job in Australia didnt turn out as I had hoped, but
the moment I caught sight of the British organisation Camp Americas
brochure about working as a camp counsellor I knew what I wanted to
do. Hence the Fowler Center, a camp for children, youths and adults
with "special needs", situated outside the village Mayville
in south-east Michigan, was my location for two summer months.
Charlie skids into the next exit and stops in front of a grand Mexican
restaurant. His comatose daughter doesnt say a word about Mc Donald's.
Two plastic men with bushy eyebrows clad in gaudy costumes and showy
sombreros welcome us next to the door. We sit down by a rounded table
below a garish paper chain creation in the middle of the room. I count
to four loud TVs, showing a football game between the Detroit Lions
and the Chicago Beers
Even though Im not especially hungry I order a vegetarian tortilla
plate, thinking its probably just a filled tortilla with some
salad on the side. Ten minutes later, the waiter serves me a meal enough
for two grown-ups. Four filled tortillas, a big portion of rice covering
a vegetarian mince, and melted cheese on top of everything. No salad.
I manage to eat almost half of it until Im full.
"Don't you want a doggy bag?"
The mother holds up one of the four boxes and highs a questioning eyebrow.
What does she mean? For what?
My puzzled look tells her I dont get it.
"For your food, so you can eat it later." she says, as if
its the most natural thing to bring your remaining food home in
a take away box.
"No thank you," I say politely.
The waiter gives me a surprised look and removes my plate from the table.
As the family tucks fat dripping minced meat sauce, portions of rice
and half-eaten tortillas into the waiting doggy bags I realise there
are probably more culture clashes to expect and get used to until the
summer is over.
© Erica Johansson May 2006
erica.johan@gmail.com
Erica Johansson is a freelance writer from Sweden.
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