An Afternoon with Ruben: Part I (Meeting 5)

       I met with Ruben for the fifth time on Friday and with him were his two friends from Venezuela, Lina and June. We met at Barnes and Noble again, which has become the regular now. I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so I brought along a Potbelly’s sandwich. He asked what was in it and I told him ham, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, mayonnaise and jalepenos. To my surprise, at the thought of eating jalepenos, Ruben cringed and explained to me how much he hates hot food. I had just assumed that any person from Mexico or South America would be a fan of salsa or any of its counterparts.

       I then asked him what kind of food he would usually eat in Columbia and he told me that they ate a variety of everything, just like us. He said he would have burgers, hot dogs, pasta, pizza, and of course, quesadillas and tacos. One food he said that might be considered a Columbian specialty was an arepa, which is like a thick pancake with butter and other spices on top.

       We then talked about each other’s plans for Thanksgiving. He said that he is meeting up with his aunt and grandma, who both live in the area and just spending time with family for the weekend. He asked why we had a holiday called Thanksgiving, and I told him the whole story about the Pilgrims and Indians, but that the main reason is to step back and realize what is important in your life and to give thanks for those particular things. While the holiday itself is not globally honored, being able to give thanks for the blessings in one’s life is a universal quality that Ruben and everyone can appreciate.

       From there, Ruben asked me if I knew of any good bars around the area. I told him that I knew of Old Rips and Rock Bottom, but that I didn’t know if they were any good because I was only nineteen. He thought for a second and then remembered that the drinking age here was twenty-one, compared to eighteen in his home country. He told me that he thinks America is extremely uptight about the drinking age laws and that he believes it should be switched to eighteen here as well. I told him I agree. While I can understand why the drinking age is twenty-one, I still agree with my eighty-seven year old grandpa that if someone can fight, defend, and die for his/her country, then he or she should be able to have a beer. Ruben told me that while the drinking age is eighteen, most Columbians begin younger. For example, Ruben began drinking when he was fourteen. Based on our societal norms, this sounds disastrous and sad. Generally, underage drinking is associated with troublemakers, bound for a future not as good as what could have been. However, when I look at Ruben now, he is an incredibly nice guy, has a solid job, a degree in engineering--basically, he seems to have a great life. It is interesting to see the perceptions of other cultures about certain subjects that America takes extremely seriously.