First Meeting with Detroit
"Mummy, I’m hungry. I want McDonald's." The young plump girl, maybe five or six years old, seems sleepy but her determined voice is enough to reach her mothers attention.
"Yes sweetheart. I know you're hungry. Charlie, can you look for somewhere to stop please? Daddy will find a place soon sweaty."
"I want McDonald's now. I want McDonald's now." The girl bounces up and down in the seat, repeating the four words endlessly.
Haven't they eaten yet? It was only a few minutes since we left the airport; it's not especially far to our end destination from here.
The generous flight meal and the fact I had been awake since pre-dawn made sleep sound like a more pleasant option. My previous flight record was on three and a half hours to the Greek island Skiathos - quite a difference.
"I'm hungry mummy."
"I know honey. Daddy will stop somewhere. Next exit is a Wendy's…how about that? And I know there's a Taco Bell within a few minutes."
The light voice was impatient.
"Mummy, I said I wanted McDonald's! I want McDonald's mum!"
I rest my head against the window and stare at the dark flat landscape. The fast food chains rectangular neon signs are luminous along the highway. In a country where numerous people suffer from obesity I find it perplexing to see how so many people can indulge in Big Mac’s, super sized sodas, fries and other obvious unhealthy meals.
A friend to my dad had a project for his company's client in Detroit a couple of months ago. He said he honestly found it difficult to eat healthy while living there. Once I was told that Michigan is the state with the most overweight people in America, but whether that is true or not I don’t know. Maybe the majority doesn’t have the right knowledge how to eat healthier, and the exploiting chains don’t exactly make things any better.
Charlie skids into the next exit and stops in front of a Mexican restaurant. His daughter doesn’t say a word about McDonald’s. Two plastic men with bushy eyebrows clad in gaudy costumes and sombreros welcome us by the entrance. We sit down by a round table below a garish paper chain creation in the middle of the room. I count to four loud TVs, showing a football game between the Detroit Lions and the Chicago Beers.
I order a vegetarian tortilla plate, expecting two filled tortillas with some salad on the side. Ten minutes later, the waiter serves me a meal enough for two grown-ups. Four filled tortillas, a big portion of rice covering a vegetarian mince, melted cheese on top of everything. No salad. I manage to eat almost half of it until I am full.
"Don't you want a doggy bag?"
The mother holds up one of the four boxes and highs a questioning eyebrow.
_What does she mean? For what? _
My puzzled look tells her I don’t get it.
"For your food, so you can eat it later." she says, as if it’s the most natural thing to bring your remaining food home in a take away box.
"No thanks," I say politely.
The waiter gives me a surprised look and removes my plate from the table. As the family tucks fat dripping minced meat sauce, portions of rice and half-eaten tortillas into their doggy bags I realize there are probably more culture clashes to expect and get used to until my first summer in America is over.
