So I failed my first exam today. Though there have occasionally been speedbumps on the road to academic glory, they usually aren't this bad. After the initial shell-shock and despair and self-beratement, I did what any reasonable person would do: I took myself out to lunch to celebrate losing my exam-failing virginity (how many things are wrong in that sentence?). I went to one of the Salvadorean restaurants in my neighbourhood (apparently, I live in an unofficial Little El Salvador, which is pretty awesome, if you ask me), and there discovered the national meal of El Salvador: the pupusa.
I was initially apprehensive, fumbling with my Spanish and occasionally slipping into French as the impassive salvadorian waitress looked me unimpressed. Living in Montréal has elevated my French to slightly below-conversational from essentially zero while bringing my Spanish down from near-fluent to also slightly below-conversational, meaning that basically I can't say anything to anyone. However, after an awkward moment I succeeded in ordering a pupusa revueltas, and sat awkwardly flipping through a paperback waiting for a very long time for my food to come. I had no idea what to expect but was instantly gratified as soon as I saw it: A flat fried pancake chock-full of gooey cheese and thinly minced unidentifiable-but-delicious pork bits, which came with a flagon of soupy pepper sauce, a saucer of hot sauce, and a JAR OF CABBAGE SALAD AS BIG AS MY HEAD. Because cabbage salad vaguely reminds me of the motherland and fatty cheese and meat really needs no help, I enjoyed my lunch immensely, reveling in the sensory overload and pleasantly full-but-not-overful feeling afterwards. When I went to the stoic waitress to pay for my lunch, I received a bill for $2.54, including tax, and went on my merry way.
Failure is often the second-best option.
Love,
Tom
