I’m Not Exotic

So my best friend from California is visiting. Last night we went to a very nice restaurant and in the bathroom I saw an announcement for a book fair being held at a local church. So of course I immediately Googled the cause they were holding the fair for because I don’t want to support some horrible cause, like “Homophobes Unite!” or “Let’s Chase Unwed Mothers Out of Town.” But it turned out to be for a great cause (cancer research), so we went.

At the entrance to the book fair, I started talking to the greeters. However, they looked past my undeniably Slavic face, bright blue tights, and a noticeable Russian accent. They also paid no attention to N’s very typical mysterious silent Russian persona. The greeters looked straight at my Californian friend who is fifteenth generation American and said, “You are not from around here. Where are you from?”

“Who, me??” asked my friend, shocked to be so easily identified as a stranger.

It was somewhat of a relief not to be singled out as the greatest misfit in every group for once. At the same time, it’s a little disturbing to have become so Midwesternized that a Californian eclipses me in the exoticism department. Maybe I should start rethinking my wardrobe.

By the way, I bought a huge biography of Dreiser at that fair and I’m loving it already.