An Asian in Atlanta

Kin-ho thought Americans were a persnickety sort. He'd been here only two weeks for his freshman year at Georgia Tech and already decided nothing they did made any sense whatsoever. Big trucks on the road, 200-pound middle-aged housewives with curlers in their hair driving Dodge Ram pick-up trucks, businessmen with ties driving Ford Expeditions, jamming away on cellphones at 6:30 in the morning to God-knows-who. Bad service everywhere he went, all these rude waiters who couldn't add the bill right. Crazy street signs and indecipherable directions.

His adviser invited him to a gathering at his house in Ansley Park. He was a friendly sort, Professor Garbin, and he'd already been introduced him to the wife who also worked at the university. Kin-ho would go by foot. He knew the 4-mile walk would take 90 minutes, but back home he was accustomed to long walks. He liked it that way, being self-reliant, not depending on machines and polluting the environment -- pollution worse than ever back home. This Atlanta place smelled a lot like Shanghai. Really bad.

Kin-ho crossed the I-75/I-85 freeway on the 17th Street overpass. He counted lanes: 18 altogether, 9 in each direction. Walking at his brisk pace took two minutes to cross the wide freeway. He'd never seen anything like it, he thought as he walked up the short hill to Peachtree Street. Peachtree Street, now there was another weirdness. Atlanta had about a million different Peachtree Streets, all winding their ridiculous way through the meandering, car-filled, always-in-a-hurry city. Professor Garbin had told him, walk up Peachtree Street, take a right on 10th Street, make a left onto Ansley Drive and walk up the hill by the park. When he got to 10th Street, the sign stopped him in his tracks. Now if this don't beat all, he thought in his native Mandarin. One arrow circled clockwise, the other circled counterclockwise. If he hadn't gotten directions from Professor Garbin, he'd be turning in circles like a dog chasing two different tails.

It would be a long four years, he thought, but it would never be dull. These Americans ... always contradicting themselves! But he had to admit, they were a friendly sort.