"Awww, man, it's [some event in Connecticut], look what I'm missing."Some of us are adjusting more quietly than others.
"Look, you're in Chile. There's nothing to miss."
For dinner tonight we went to a sort of cafeteria, which seems a lot like a fuente de soda but bigger and cleaner and has TV. I had a pisco sour and a churrasco, a sliced steak sandwich; I recommend the combination, because the pisco sour was extremely acidic and very alcoholic, and the churrasco was heavy and reasonably greasy. That is to say, if you're going to insist on eating crappy food, I recommend that combination; really you're better off eating something else, like the large salad I scored at lunch today.
Ever notice how you never hear about Chilean restaurants in the U.S., even in the biggest metropolitan areas? There's a reason for that. I think you're not here for the food.
One of my two companions, hungry and stressed from writing tonight's lesson plan, wanted to order a "Naturalista", which looked like some kind of corn-and-rice concoction. The waiter said no, that's for the morning only. I said, "It's breakfast" (she's a beginning Spanish speaker), and she snapped a bit and said, "No. Bullshit. That's not breakfast. What the fuck."
Helpful and understanding as always, I said, "Yeah, it's not like we're in another country where they might do things differently."
Really, when my friends say "Fucking fuck you," it's with affection and I've earned it.