I was an exchange student in college. In Innsbruck, Austria. Mornings in winter, I would walk outside my dorm and put my skis on the back of the bus and head up the mountain with the rest of Tirol. And then I would have lunch. Yes, no skiing. Sausages first. Skiing later.
I was 19 then. And then 20. At a dorm party one night, after who-knows-how-many-Stiegls, I remember looking around to find myself surrounded by the calf muscles of a bevy of strapping young Tirolean men; they were admiring the whiteness and shapeliness of my teeth. American fluoride, I thank you.
What was I thinking? It wasn't enough. I remember missing Taco Bell. And my parents' La-Z Boy recliner. I wanted to go home at some point. Badly. Enough to prevent me from finding joy in anything Austrian in between. Except the pastries. I found joy, much joy, in many pastries.
And then I got home. And we went through the Taco Bell drive-thru and I sat in my dad's La-Z Boy recliner, and I watched that white Ford Bronco speed across the television screen and wondered...what was I thinking?
I was 19 then. And then 20. At a dorm party one night, after who-knows-how-many-Stiegls, I remember looking around to find myself surrounded by the calf muscles of a bevy of strapping young Tirolean men; they were admiring the whiteness and shapeliness of my teeth. American fluoride, I thank you.
What was I thinking? It wasn't enough. I remember missing Taco Bell. And my parents' La-Z Boy recliner. I wanted to go home at some point. Badly. Enough to prevent me from finding joy in anything Austrian in between. Except the pastries. I found joy, much joy, in many pastries.
And then I got home. And we went through the Taco Bell drive-thru and I sat in my dad's La-Z Boy recliner, and I watched that white Ford Bronco speed across the television screen and wondered...what was I thinking?
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