The United States of Exotica

The first day back in America: he United States of exotica.  I walk up to the Starbucks and I feel my lips preparing to say: “你给我来一个双份浓缩咖啡.”  It only lasts a second.  The barista is a young guy, with a fat face, my size.  All I need to do is speak English.  There is no tension and no excitement around this exchange. 

The environment is in no way different from a Starbucks anywhere else I have ever been: the wonder of Starbucks, the tyranny of Starbucks.  The food choices are probably the most obvious difference here in the Miami establishment I am visiting.  Blueberries, yoghurt, granola, each in their own discrete packages, are bundled up as one offering.   Juices that offer me “defence” against colds draw my attention.  “Gee, I want defense.”  These things are different.  But the wallpaper and the outfits and the espresso are all quite familiar.  On the air, I hear Monk.  Then the vibes.  That must be Milt Jackson.  What was the album that Monk and Milt Jackson were both playing on?  (“Wizard of the Vibes”) This track could easily flood the air in local Beijing Starbucks, as well.  Here, it is striking.  The hum of the mallet strikes upon the vibraphone shakes me out of the protean thoughts I’d been mulling on. 

A colleague convinces me I need to get a prepaid SIM card.  Right.  And here is a Verizon store across the street from our hotel.  There’s a line inside.  I tell my friend to run off and buy the coat he was considering.  I’ll hold your place.  And then I have nothing to do but look at the people walking by and listen to the conversation of the people in front of me.  An older lady with a southern accent has lost her iPhone.  Another young lady needs one as well.  An attractive young African American girl is guided through the options for which iPhones are in stock and which are not by a confident young man of vaguely South Asian descent.   I do not hear what she says, but suddenly the man becomes defensive.   “Really?  I don’t know why I speak loudly.  I suppose it is to sound authoritative.”  Two points for candor . . .

I’m next.  “Do you have an iPhone six?”  “Yes.”  “There’s a bug.  A pre-paid SIM won’t work.  I can put it in and try but it isn’t going to work.  I just went through this with another couple from France.”  “I see.  My phone is from China.  You suppose that might make a difference?”  “Might.”  He fuddles, he swaps SIMs, he dials and sure enough, he is able to dial his own phone with mine and the new card.  I pay $60.00 and I’ve got a Dade County mobile phone number mobile Wi-Fi till I use it all up. 

Walking outside I try to dial my friend.  “International calls are not allowed with this phone.”  Thanks.  “Oh.  You didn’t say you wanted that.  It’s another $30.00.”  Over and over I repeat to myself that this $90.00 now is less that what I would otherwise be billed later.  Logically it makes sense.  But I still feel like I’ve been fleeced.