1.3 kilograms of Sugar

I consumed exactly 1.3 kilograms of sugar in my first week in the US as a tenderfoot international student from India.  That is 184 grams or 46 teaspoons each day!  Over 5 times the recommended maximum daily intake!  Why?  Because I subsisted on exactly two large McDonald's vanilla milkshakes per day for the entire week.  Why?  Because I didn't know how to cook and I didn't know how to order food.  Here's how this dreadful week happened.  

It was 11am on a hot August morning.  I had landed in the US the evening before and had slept for almost 12 hours in another Indian student's apartment.  The dude had fed me a remarkably spicy mushroom curry before I had crashed, and had given me a sermon on how he was known to be kind to new students but his roommate was an unfavorable soul.  As such, he had said it was imperative that I find my own accommodation and start making my own food at the earliest.  Like I said, I knew nothing about cooking back then.  So, I walked into a McDonald's, lunch on my mind.  Having witnessed the McDonald's revolution in 90s India, the only picture I had of this eatery in my mind was that of a swanky restaurant de choix of the well cologned haute monde among the youth, clothed in their newest attires purchased at mall or obtained from an affluent aunt 'from foreign', commemorating a birthday or a newly forged committed relationship of a flirtatious duo in the gang by compelling the implicated to treat them to McAloo Tikki burgers and milkshakes.  I couldn't go wrong with McD's, I told myself naively, and walked in.  

Imagine my immediate disillusionment when I was engulfed by a totally anticlimactic sensory panorama!  First, a strong untellable odor hit me in the face.  As I treaded over grimy floor, I could feel my shoes stick, presumably to the remnants of spilled soda.  The trash can next to the door was overflowing.  An elderly chap in tattered clothes suddenly emerged, seemingly out of thin air, and walked past me.  As the chap departed from my frame of vision, I could see him grin at me through half a dozen decayed teeth.  I surveyed the sitting area.  I spotted exactly one customer, a fellow with more hair on his cheeks than his head, huddled over the sports page of the Akron Beacon Journal.  The bearded sports enthusiast half glanced at me and returned to his newspaper.  

Not what I had envisioned.

Upon recovering from the initial shock, I walked up to the counter and ordered, almost by reflex,

"One veggie burger, please!"

The response:

"One whaaa....t?"

"Veggie.... burger...?"

"What's a wedgie bugger?"

A chuckle travelled from the direction of the bearded sports enthusiast.  I realized my folly.  I had used the 'w' sound in place of the 'v' sound, like many Indians do.  I quickly rectified the erroneous diction,

"Sorry, I meant, VEJJEE burger!"

"Oh veggies!  So you want a salad?"

"No no, I want a burger!"

"Bugger?"

I heard the bearded sport enthusiast's newspaper rustle.  He might have chuckled again, but had covered it up with a cough.  Again, I realized my folly.  I had dropped the R sound like a true protégé of my motherland's past colonial master, who for some reason had had no impact on this NE Ohio McD's cashier.  At any rate, I mended my order,

"Sorry, I meant VEJJEE BURRGERR!"

I'm pretty sure I sounded like a Brazilian or Chilean imposter this time, because at this juncture the bearded sport enthusiast began peering over his paper and at me unabashedly.  However, the cashier thankfully deciphered my words accurately this time.

"Oh burger!  So you want burger and a salad?"

"No salad.  Only burger.  Veggie."

"Sorry, I don't understand.  You want a burger.  And what about the veggies?"

"I want a veggie burger!"

"So a salad and a burger?"

I probably looked like I was about to scream.  The bearded sports enthusiast had now put down his paper completely and was watching the whole scene unfold as if he were watching some movie.  I avoided his gaze.

"I want a veggie burger.  A burger that is veggie!"

The look on the cashier's face told me she had never heard word 'veggie' being used as an adjective.  With a confused look, she asked,

"So you want just lettuce and tomatoes inside a bun?"

"I want burger also.  Vegetarian!"

Both the cashier and I realized that the word 'vegetarian' had been uttered for the first time in the last 5 minutes.  We stared at each other wide-eyed for almost 10 seconds.  Even the bearded sports enthusiast looked intrigued.  I began mentally kicking myself for not having ordered a vegetarian burger when I opened my mouth the first time, but I had high hopes that the cashier now knew exactly what I wanted, and would swiftly forge ahead with the order.  However, that wasn't to be.  This is what she said instead,

"I don't know what that means.  Sorry."

I probably again looked like I was about to scream.

"Vegetarian means no meat.  Please don't put meat in my burger.  I want a burger with no meat."

"I'm sorry I don't understand.  You want the burger but no bun with lettuce and tomato?  Is that a separate order?"

I took a deep breath and decided to snap out of this chakravyuha.

"Can I please have a large vanilla milkshake?"

And that is how my sugary week began!