Deaf in DC: A Memoir

3. The Cafeteria

12 3 The Cafeteria THE NEXT MORNING, I WOKE UP AFTER TWELVE HOURS OF dreamless sleep. I felt much better and was ready to face my life in the new country. I saw Godsey sitting in a chair. He smiled when he saw me awake and signed, “eat.” I was indeed hungry and it was nice of him to remember I had gone to bed hungry the night before. I got up and walked to him and shook his hands and went to take a hurried shower and dressed in my suit and the tie to go eat breakfast. Godsey, who was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, didn’t say anything. He was a very understanding guy. My visit to the Gallaudet cafeteria was an American experience. The stainless steel equipment and floors, that were so clean that you could eat sitting on it, amazed me. However, the thing that really got my attention was the number of machines that dispensed various sodas, three kinds of fruits juices, and milk. One could fill his glass with all the milk or other drink that one wanted. In India, you were given measured amounts of everything. If you wanted more, it was a flat no. I had read in history books how rivers of milk used to flow in ancient India. However, I had not read that there were countries where these rivers were still flowing and there were several other rivers in addition to the river of milk. There were rivers of Coke and orange juice. I knew the United States was rich, but reading about prosperity is one thing and to experience it is something else. It is just like you have to experience poverty to get the real feeling about being poor. The buffet wafted an aroma of cooked eggs and some new things. I copied Godsey and took a tray and added two glasses and silverware to it and followed him in the serving line. I got an omelet, which I learned later was scrambled eggs. I said no to bacon and sausage and accepted a couple of slices of toasted bread. Godsey opted for some round brown t h e c a f e t e r i a 13 chapatis and poured thick syrup on them. I was not brave enough to try them. Then, I learned how to ply the milk machine. The milk was ice cold. I wondered if I could get it boiled. Since there was no stove around and everyone appeared to drink the milk cold, I decided to follow suit. While eating my first American breakfast, I looked at other students trying to understand what they were signing and understood nothing. Godsey introduced me to the two students sitting at the table. They signed something and the only sign I understood was whether I was a freshman or prep. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders to indicate the limbo status I was in. They went back to talking to each other. I got the feeling that this class status was very important. The “first-year student” that is used in India and other countries to denote a class placement was not going to work here. Godsey patiently spelling each word slowly told me that after the breakfast we would go to see the dean of students. I hoped a visit to the dean would help clarify where I stood. Since conversation was cumbersome with me, Godsey began to talk to other students at the table, and I began to survey the dining hall. I wondered which one of these students would become my best friend and which one would hate my guts. I tried to guess, but it was hard. A student caught my attention as he poured himself four glasses of milk and one of orange juice. His tray also held a stack of those brown chapatis, which I later learned were pancakes, bacon, and a heap of hash brown potatoes. I was hungry, but I was sure that I could not eat half of what he had and then drink four glasses of milk. The guy was big and I was curious to see how he was going to finish his enormous breakfast. The real shocker came when I saw him eat half his breakfast and drink one glass of milk. The remaining food and the three glasses of cold milk went down the drain in the dishwashing area! I thought of all the little...