Down the rabbit hole

At the drugstore buying supplies for life in the first world I fumble with just about everything and there's too much of all of it anyway. Five hundred kinds of shampoo, etc. I feel like a calf - wobbly legs, gigantic eyes and all; trying to figure out how to operate myself in this very modern America. Not that it was the stone age or anything when I left, but I am sorely out of practice with even the basics. And the one thing I was most talented at (shopping) takes on a whole new meaning.

I'm looking at everything sideways when the cashier takes my plastic and asks me 'Debit or credit?' I don't know, I admit and she swipes it in a huff and swings the keypad toward me and just waits. I stand there, dumbstruck, not knowing what to do and she lifts the techno-pen out of it's cradle; motions for me to sign the digital screen in front of me. She does not speak to me. She is annoyed with me because I don't recognize this ritual.

With an air of 'Oh that...' I try to regain my composure and tell her with the same 'I wanna be adored' smile I used at a new school in fourth grade, 'We didn't have these things in India.' I guess hoping to start up some kind of conversation that will turn this stranger's opinion of me from 'dumb as a doornail' to 'worldly, just a bit out of sorts and plagued with jetlag and culture shock. Probably brilliant on a good day.'

She flicks her eyes up at me and says, 'Indiana?' with a bored drawl that tells me she wouldn't give a damn even if she did know where India was or how long I'd lived there. She is wearing coveralls (on purpose) and her permed hair is sprayed into a chunk on top of her head, bangs teflon-stiff and straight up to heaven, and that makes me feel a bit better.
'Uh, yeah.' I give up trying to talk to this creature and puzzle over the contraption some more. And then in a blessed flash - Ah yes! I remember now. A glimmer of a past life flickers on in my mind and muscle memory kicks in. I sign the computerized screen with pixel ink, click 'OK' and triumphantly take my receipt in hand and walk out of the store feeling like I've mastered an Olympic event.

Halfway to the car I realize I've left my bags inside and creep back to the counter, sheepishly grinning at the woman who just rang me up and now stands looking at me as if I must be the most undereducated person she's ever seen in her life. She is wondering which cave they found me in. I take my purchases and slink out.

It's impossible to imagine what it must be like for someone coming to the States for the first time but I've got a pretty decent sense of it now. Sort of like Alice down the rabbit hole.