American Things

It was nearing the end of lunch break. I took a half slice of bread from a bag, smeared peanut butter on it with a knife. As an afterthough, I took a little piece of lemon cake from a sample bowl and put it on top, for the sweetness. I turned away from the counter to sit back down. “AHHH!” screamed the 19-year old café manager “what are you doing, that’s yuck!” The others stood up to get a look, make faces, and generally be horrified. I shrugged. “That’s so weird” said a co-worker. “It’s no worse than fairy bread” I said. “Must be an American thing. Fairy bread is normal” the 19-year old mocked, looking to the others for a laugh. My face failed to hide distain, “Butter and sprinkles on white bread is normal?”

The topic was cars. My fellow bakers lamented the jobs lost in factories due to outsourcing in other countries and that there was no choice but to buy foreign. “What kind of car are you looking at, Wren?” asked our boss. “I’m not sure” she paused “but not American. I’d never buy American.” I didn’t look up from my task, since she was baiting me. “I’d NEVER buy American” she said again. No response. “Never American!” she shouted triumphantly.

As it was the end of the day, we each were cleaning up, ready to go home. I was busy scraping the floor while simultaneously chatting with Tina, a fellow baker. “That’s a strange way to scrape the floor” she commented “must be an American thing”. I looked up and saw her grin. She was joking but so what. “The next person that comments about America is getting their face scraped.” I held up the scraper, helpfully “It’s going to be like ‘Son of a Witch’”. Tina grinned wider “Son of a witch? What’s that?”. “It’s a book, based on the Wizard of Oz.” She frowned “Must be an American thing.”