Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.

The workers

The dining hall we eat at every day is connected to a residence hall. The name of the residence hall is "La Force." Whether it is named for the infamous prison remains to be discovered, but I have to wonder since the workers in the dining hall wear what essentially appear to be red liberty caps. Coincidence? I don't really care to find out, because if the answer is no, how freaky is that?

The workers at the cafeteria, liberty caps notwithstanding, are good at what they do and kind and courteous, too. The other day, they sent me home with two big bottles of juice for Miriam. They said they'd ordered the juice by mistake and for some reason, Miriam was the child upon whom they chose to bestow their bounty. Today, they sent me home with more juice, this time in small bottles. I'm not a big juice fiend or anything, but it is always nice to have on hand. Also today, they set aside a huge bowl of blueberries for Jeremy at breakfast, just because he had told them the day before that he liked them so much.

Since they are such nice people, it's a shame Miriam continues to refer to them androgynously. I don't know if it's the fact that they all wear the same uniform or what, but Miriam calls them "workers" and uses the pronoun "it" to refer to one in singular. We'll have to work on that, lest she call them "it" to their face and cut off our juice supply.

Spoiled forever?

A soundtrack for Sasha 2.0