Back in the USA
The first thing you notice is that the air conditioning is on. I mean, you actually feel cool and comfortable. In Asia, everyone is into frugality and self-discipline, so they either don’t turn on the air conditioner, or they leave it at somewhere between 80 and 85 degrees. We may be going broke, but we are doing so without breaking a sweat.
Then you see two guys standing near the baggage carousel, picking up the heavy bags and turning them right side up, so you can access the handles. They assume you are tired, weak, and flabby. Which, of course, you are.
Then the stern-looking man in a black SWAT uniform with a “US Department of Homeland Security” patch, upon looking at your passport, smiles ever so slightly and says, “Welcome home.” That little phrase nearly breaks me up every time.
When you order a salad at the Elephant Bar next to the motel, the young waiter says, “You got it!” Okay, so he lacks the style and elegance of those Asian lovelies, but at least you know he’s right there, full of vim and vigor.
As you leave the restaurant, you pass people speaking Cantonese, Spanish, and Korean, plus a few actually using some form of English.
Welcome back to the good ol’ USA.