The Brazil Saga 1 - "You're Argentinian"

From here on out, I'm calling "The Brazil Saga" stories "The BS". Just so you know.

So, I lived in Brazil for 6 months once upon a time, and never a more eventful six months did I have. I have, like, sooo many stories. This one I'm gonna tell you is one of my favorites.

The rinky-dink town I lived didn't have much to do. Like, at all. I don't understand how people live there. Here's a picture:

Pictured: The year 1537

Don't be deceived by the scenery, that place sucks. But I'll get into that another day.

On one of the last days I was there, I checked out this cake shop I'd never been to. The cake was good, but that's not the story.

I walk in, and I see this woman:

 

Not to scale.

Now, I don't look not Brazilian at first, but as soon as I open my mouth and start speaking Portuguese it's very obvious that I'm something that is not Brazilian.

Anyway, then I hear the following dialogue:

Pictured woman (PW): "What's this cake like?"
Lady behind the counter 1 (LBC1): (sighing) "It's a vanilla cake."
PW: "Like how much vanilla?"
LBC2: "The normal amount."
PW: "Hmm... well what about this cake?"
LBC1: (shoots an annoyed glance at LBC2) "It's a chocolate cake."
PW: "But how much chocolate?"

This went on for about seventeen more cakes until finally LBC2 looked at me and said, with a smile, "And what would you like sir?"

Me: "I just want a slice of that cake there"
LBC2: "The little blacky black cake?" (actual name of the cake)
Me: "Yes please :3"

Then I entered purgatory.

PW: (to me) "Where are you from young man?"
Me: "America, as in the United States of." (South Americans are American too.)
PW: "No you're not."
Me: "Er... yes. I am."
PW: "But you don't look American. Or sound American." (Keep in mind, (most) Brazilians think that (all) Americans are Aryan.)
Me: "Well, I'm of Arab descent, but I was definitely born and raised in the US."
PW: "No you weren't. You're Argentinian."
Me, LBC1, LBC2:

PW: "Mmhmm, yup, you're definitely Argentinian."
Me: (with a mouthful of little blacky black cake) "Nro, Ir'm nort Argerntiniarn."
PW: "Yes you are."

This goes on for a while. And then, just to move shit along, I say, "Well, I do speak Spanish."

PW: "Aha! I knew it! You're Argentinian!"
Me: "Well by that logic---"
PW: "You even have an Argentinian's accent!"
LBC1: (trying to save me) "What are you doing in this shit hole town if you're here all the way from America?"
PW: "Argentina."
LBC1: "... Right."
Me: "Oh, I'm just here---"
PW: "Look, I'm a teacher. I'm gonna help you speak Portuguese like a Brazilian. We don't like Argentinians."
LBC2: "I don't mind Argent---"
PW: "WE DON'T LIKE ARGENTINIANS."
Me: "Ma'am, weren't you ordering a cake?"
PW: (in really bad Spanish now) "No, no, say like this: 'Maaaa'aaam'. Well? Go on. 'Maaaa'aaaam'. That how Brazilian make word."
Me: "*sigh* Where do I throw away this plate?"
PW: "'Maaaaa'aaaaam'"
LBC1: "There's a trash can right over here."
PW: (snapping her fingers) "YOU'RE NOT PAYING ATTENTION. HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO LEARN?"
Me: "... Ma'aaam."
PW: "No, no, like this: 'Maaaaaaaaa'aaaaaaam.'"

This also goes on for quite some time. Then:

Me: "How much did that slice of cake cost?"
LBC2: "It's [price]." (I don't remember the price. My main concern was GTFO.)

So with a stomach full of little blacky black cake and a mindful of ignoring PW, I start G'ingTFO. Luckily, I saw this guy I knew so I struck up a conversation with him. Well, tried. PW followed me because, goddammit, she knew this guy too.

PW: "HEY! HEY GUY! Look at this Argentinian I met!"
Guy: "He's American."
PW: (to me) "You're American? Why didn't you say something?"
Me, LBC1, LBC2, Guy: 

PW: (In really, really bad English) "Nice you meet!"
Me: (In Portuguese) "I have to go."

And go I did. As fast as fucking possible.

The Checklist of Time Wasting

Those of you who know me know that I am late to just about everything in life. Except being born. I was almost a month premature. What a disappointment it must have been when my parents realized I'm neither early nor punctual to anything. 

I used to think that I couldn't explain why this happened. And I want to make a distinction: I'm constantly late, not consistently late. Being consistently late is what people call "fashionably late". That's not what I do.

Sometimes I would claim that Arabs are late like all other minorities. Or, I would say that outside forces physically prevented me from being on time. That it wasn't meant to be. And then one day, not too long ago, when you were about the same age you are right now, I realized something. Deep down, I like being late. Ladies, if I were your period, I would scare the shit out of you. Every month. Gentlemen, if I were your girlfriend's period... well, you get the point.

 

And don't try to pull logic out on me here. Again, I'm not consistent with my lateness. I'm whatever the fuck I feel like it at that moment amount of time late. Could be a minute, could be an hour. Could be tomorrow.

So I thought I might as well embrace it and turn it into something beautiful. Er... being late. Not your period. Or your girlfriend's period. 

And now it's an art. The art of wasting time. And like all art, it has guidelines. So, here I have compiled a checklist that will ensure that you are late... artfully.

These things all assume that you should be leaving the house now in order to be at [place/engagement/appointment] on time or early. Use with caution. 

[ ] Shower.

[ ] Brush your teeth. 

[ ] Floss, too. It never hurts to floss. 

[ ] Change your outfit.

[ ] Change back to what you were wearing before.  

[ ] Your hair probably looks bad now. Fix it. Or shave it all off. Change is good.

[ ] Check the time and shrug.

[ ] Check the internet.

[ ] Start making paper cranes. Or learn. 

[ ] It would probably be a good idea to write out a grocery list. Do that.

[ ] Check your email and/or snail mail.

[ ] Check the time and scoff. 

[ ] Have you taken a dump today? You should do that.

[ ] If you have a significant other, have sex. If you don't, masturbate. 

[ ] You should probably shower again now.

[ ] Brush your teeth, too. 

[ ] ... Maybe wear something different for real this time. 

[ ] Leave.

[ ] Now's a good time to stop at the gas station.

[ ] Check the time and go "OH SHIT. Oh well."

That's really all I've got. I need to go be late for something now. With finesse, of course.

The Trials of Getting a Job

So you want to get a job? Good for you. Here:

 

 That's for you. Proud of you! :)

...

Now, onto serious business. You want to get a job? Well tough shit. Getting a job is hard. Getting a job  s u c k s. Getting a job is nigh impossible. 

"Oh N, why are you so pessimistic?" You may ask, out of desperation, probably because you really want a job.

Listen boys and girls. I've been out of college for a whole year and then some. I've had one job, and it was an internship overseas. I got paid in beans and rocks. And then five months ago, I came back here to the good ol' land of purple mountains majesty, exchanged the piddly remains of my beans and rocks for leaves and drool, and have been unemployed ever since.

"But did you look for jobs?" You exhort. Yes, yes I did. 

"But did you apply to jobs?" You beseech. Yes, most certainly I did. 

"But is your resume good?" You besmirch. Verily, it is. And you don't have to be so rude.

"But---" Yes. 

"And did you---" Yes. 

"And how about---" Of course. 

"BUT! I bet you didn't---" Oh, but I did. 

"Hmm... I know! You probably didn't---" Nope, I definitely did that too. On careerbuilder.com and everything. 

"Well damn." I KNOW!!!

At this point, I feel like this: 

I've had so many calls, so few interviews, and no second interviews (or job), that I feel trapped. Trapped, specifically because a lot of the jobs I want, I can't get. 

It's either, you must be 25 or older (I'm 22) or you must have 5+ years experience doing ________ (I have little to no experience doing most ______'s). 

So then you dig into entry level positions. And what are those like? Well...

And I don't really want to do something like that. I know that beggars can't be choosers, but seriously, look at this gem I found today:

"[Car Dealership] is looking for an ambitious, detail oriented multi-tasker to join our team as a part time cashier/receptionist... In this position you will process all payment transactions for customers in our busy dealership." 

Hey, Car Dealership, guess what? I've done something extremely similar to that before. It looked like this:

So anyway. How the hell do you get 5+ years experience before you're 25 in order to get one of the cool jobs out there? That's not rhetorical. Please tell me. 

Also, I have to share that I went to a group interview today, and was the youngest person there by 10 years, which was unnerving. Out of the four of us, there was one guy who was easily in his 50s, and of course he outshone us all. I wanted to tell him "Dude. Some of us actually need a job, so, uh, can you please go back to that place where you said you've been working at for 25 years?" Between him and this one girl, Stutterella, who was erupting sunshine from every orifice, I stood no chance.

I'm sorry. I thought I went to college and paid good money for a piece of paper that had at least some return on its value, but... well... I guess reality hits you hard, bro. 

Anyway. Back to the internet for me. And you. Or not. I think you should go make a sandwich.

Happy sandwiches. 

Marshall knows.

The List of Irrational Fears

I have prepared a list of my irrational fears, most of which are made up. Why have I made this list? Because just read it okay?!
1. That a popped balloon will send a stray piece of elastic to blind me. DELIBERATELY.

2. That the number 4 will murder me someday. (I blame Asians for this.)

3. That if I rub my eyes after petting an animal I will get rabies and die. (Only the eyes though.)

4. On the note of touching, that when people touch me I will contract their personality flaws. Like Rogue, but the opposite.

5. That if a cell phone is directly touching food or cigarettes or gum or other ingestible objects, the radiation will permeate them and cause multiple tumors of myriad shapes and sizes.

6. That all of my texts are read by the receiving party in a very aggressive tone. (I never mean to be aggressive.)

7. That mixing two different brands of gas in a car's tank will cause a violent explosion. (It doesn't.)

8. Blood and guts. Especially my own. Shudder. (But only real-time blood and guts, not like movies and video games and shit.)

9. On that note, the drawn-out description of physical trauma, surgery, or terminal illness. Pass. Out.

10. That if you DON'T knock on wood, terrible, horrible things will happen to you. Like an elephant will fall on your FACE. :-O (See Fig. 1)

Figure 1

 That's all.

Happy trails. Wait... that's a horrible thing to say as a sign off. Happy... voyages. Bon voyage?

...

I'm just gonna go with bye.

In other news...

I have a new post coming up, I swear. It's long. It's gonna have to be split up into two parts. It's gonna be epic... I hope.

I suppose that's up to your opinion.

I leave you now with a list of websites I use to kill my boredom.

For the witty and articulate: www.futilitycloset.com

For the listophiles: www.cracked.com

For the linguistophiles: www.digitaldialects.com (A personal favorite)

For the easily amused: www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com

For the rest: www.en.wikipedia.org

Also, this is hilarious: