"How do you like your eggs?" He asked me, in an ever so sincere and charming British accent.
I looked up from the pan of sizzling eggs that I was frying, on one of the twelve burners, on the far side of the spacious communal kitchen. We have been staying at this beach hostel that has such a nice kitchen we've been cooking every meal here, instead of our usual eating out once a day.
"Uh, I don't know..." I replied, feeling totally awkward.
The kitchen is one place I feel confident; Sprinkling just the right amount of salt, carefully separating the yolk from the white. Easy, methodical. Make sure there is just the right amount of butter on the pan and just the right amount of water in the oats as they bubble away. At that instant something had ruptured my razor sharp concentration and in doing so I felt off balance. I tried to reach for a little bit of safety in my continued response.
"I guess I like them best in a hole, like eggs in a hole, with toast." I continued as the first sentence didn't feel quite like the answer he was waiting for or an answer at all. My words were muddled in my confusion at being addressed by this stranger so directly and out of the blue. Yet with every word I continued to give him, I was revealing more and more about myself.
The nice thing about hostels is that there are people from all over the world, traveling for who knows what reasons who all happen to be staying in the same place. They are there for maybe just one night or three or a whole week, month, and sometimes even year. There is never the same exact group of people for more than one night.
For the amount of time we have been using these accommodations, I have learned how to blend in. We're not there long enough to really be recognized or known by all too many people. So I can slide under the radar, always that mysterious person in the kitchen who you don't really know anything about. Don't even know where they are from. This is especially easy since I am not usually out of my room, except to cook. Because by the time we get back from our daily outings, I'm pretty exhausted. All I want to do at that point is have some food and hit my sheets for some quality snoozing. No interest in pretending to care about having any social interaction.
However, with my stumbling sentences my all too American accent revealed more than I would have liked to admit.
"Oh, not with a kiss?" He responded, a gleam entering his eye. "That's too bad, you could've been lucky." I looked back at the eggs I was frying up for my brother as he walked towards his group of mates. "I like them with a kiss," he explained to them as I avoided eye contact at all costs and feigned complete focus on the food in front of me.
I could've been lucky? I thought with distain. Seems pretty cocky to me. In that moment all the possible reactions I could have had came to mind. "I like them with a kiss, just not one from you" or "I like them served with a side of shut the F up and leave me alone" anything other than the complete tongue tied mess that I let out of my mouth.
I finished cooking my breakfast, as well as my brothers, moms, and dads. The whole time this interaction was rewinding and replaying in my brain. Why was it bothering me so much? Could it be the sudden loss of anonymity, or my utter stupidity in answering? In reality it was probably the growing feeling that this guy was just a douche bag. Someone I was privileged enough to be accosted by too early in the day. One of many, with their snide quips and maddening arrogance.
All that aside, it's a lovely day for the beach!!
I looked up from the pan of sizzling eggs that I was frying, on one of the twelve burners, on the far side of the spacious communal kitchen. We have been staying at this beach hostel that has such a nice kitchen we've been cooking every meal here, instead of our usual eating out once a day.
"Uh, I don't know..." I replied, feeling totally awkward.
The kitchen is one place I feel confident; Sprinkling just the right amount of salt, carefully separating the yolk from the white. Easy, methodical. Make sure there is just the right amount of butter on the pan and just the right amount of water in the oats as they bubble away. At that instant something had ruptured my razor sharp concentration and in doing so I felt off balance. I tried to reach for a little bit of safety in my continued response.
"I guess I like them best in a hole, like eggs in a hole, with toast." I continued as the first sentence didn't feel quite like the answer he was waiting for or an answer at all. My words were muddled in my confusion at being addressed by this stranger so directly and out of the blue. Yet with every word I continued to give him, I was revealing more and more about myself.
The nice thing about hostels is that there are people from all over the world, traveling for who knows what reasons who all happen to be staying in the same place. They are there for maybe just one night or three or a whole week, month, and sometimes even year. There is never the same exact group of people for more than one night.
For the amount of time we have been using these accommodations, I have learned how to blend in. We're not there long enough to really be recognized or known by all too many people. So I can slide under the radar, always that mysterious person in the kitchen who you don't really know anything about. Don't even know where they are from. This is especially easy since I am not usually out of my room, except to cook. Because by the time we get back from our daily outings, I'm pretty exhausted. All I want to do at that point is have some food and hit my sheets for some quality snoozing. No interest in pretending to care about having any social interaction.
However, with my stumbling sentences my all too American accent revealed more than I would have liked to admit.
"Oh, not with a kiss?" He responded, a gleam entering his eye. "That's too bad, you could've been lucky." I looked back at the eggs I was frying up for my brother as he walked towards his group of mates. "I like them with a kiss," he explained to them as I avoided eye contact at all costs and feigned complete focus on the food in front of me.
I could've been lucky? I thought with distain. Seems pretty cocky to me. In that moment all the possible reactions I could have had came to mind. "I like them with a kiss, just not one from you" or "I like them served with a side of shut the F up and leave me alone" anything other than the complete tongue tied mess that I let out of my mouth.
I finished cooking my breakfast, as well as my brothers, moms, and dads. The whole time this interaction was rewinding and replaying in my brain. Why was it bothering me so much? Could it be the sudden loss of anonymity, or my utter stupidity in answering? In reality it was probably the growing feeling that this guy was just a douche bag. Someone I was privileged enough to be accosted by too early in the day. One of many, with their snide quips and maddening arrogance.
All that aside, it's a lovely day for the beach!!
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