As far as I can tell, Americans' diet consists primarily of cardboard.
The conveyor belt brings me cardboard box after cardboard box. They're plastered in different colors and words. Some are large and thin; some are square; some are thick and squat; some are cold, having just come out of the freezer section. Some rattle, some are heavy, some are wrapped together with other boxes in plastic wrap. I don't know where all this cardboard came from, but we eat a lot of it. I'm not exempt myself, I guess, even though my diet would be as foreign to these people as that of a gorilla or a bear.
Americans also eat a lot of dairy, especially yoplait yogurt. Packs and packs of cheese; gallons and gallons of milk. But even more than milk, gallons and gallons of soda pop--in cans, bottles, cardboard boxes full of cans and bottles. Bottle after bottle of gatorade. Cubic yards of lunchables.
People for the most part are exceedingly polite and friendly. I like my coworkers. It's hard, since I'm not used to it, to be on my feet for eight hours in a day with only a hour of scattered breaks in which to eat, sit down, have some water. But I don't have to do it every day, and I think I'm good at what I do. I think I've nailed the art of making snap decisions how to put these items into plastic bags, how to arrange everything in a sensical and practical way. How to make our customers happy, or at least keep them from being unhappy.
I got this job by submitting an application on a whim, never expecting to get it. I didn't even know a position was open. But it was, and there was an interview, and there was a drug test, and then all of a sudden I was part of a union and wearing a black apron over my blue polo shirt and standing behind the cashiers' stations ready to help wherever I was needed, and y'know, it feels good to work, even when it's hard and pays peanuts compared to my last job, so I'm grateful for it.
I'm sorry I stopped posting halfway thru my 2nd UK trip. I'm sorry I didn't post about my move or about what coming back from Ireland to Colorado was like. Waking up from a long and lovely dream. I hate how sometimes it feels like it never happened. A whole year of my life dissolved into memories and stories, keepsakes scattered across the floor of my room because I'm too lazy to pick them up and put them away.
I do still want to keep up with my now-ancient-and-much-neglected goal of posting something here once a week at least. Keep me to it, if you read this blog, won't you? I need the writing practice.