Inheritance

Chapter Fifty. Culture Shock

Chapter Fifty

Culture Shock 

"Good morning Houston. It's Friday morning, the time is six thirty-seven, and the temperature is a muggy eighty-two with humidity at eighty-eight percent. We're in for another hot one so let's start the day with the cool refreshing sounds of Miss Patsy Cline. Take it away Patsy." 

John stirred, groaned and reached over to turn off the clock radio before his ears could be assaulted by more country music. He'd desperately needed sleep after his long journey, but the constant rattle and hum of the air conditioner and the unfamiliar surroundings of his room at the Rice Hotel had kept him awake most of the night. He needed his wits about him because in just over two hours he had to meet the lab director for orientation. This gave him plenty of time to luxuriate in an unaccustomed shower, dress, and enjoy a casual breakfast in the coffee shop before making his way to the university. 

A hostess greeted him at the entrance to the hotel coffee shop, and in a soft nasal twang asked if he was alone. John nodded and she escorted him to a small table overlooking Texas Avenue. No sooner was he seated than a matronly black figure appeared by his side. In one hand she brandished a steaming pot of coffee and in the other clutched several breakfast menus. 

"Coffee, sah?" 

John was lost for words. He had never spoken to a black person before. 

"Sah?" 

"Oh, yes please," he managed to mumble. 

"Y'all not from round here, are you sweetie?" 

"No. I'm from England. I'm going to study at Rice." 

"My, y'all must be one smart fella then. Here's your menu. Let me know when y'all is ready to order." 

The huge plastic menu gave a choice of every conceivable type of breakfast. Many of the dishes were completely foreign to John (what were grits and chitlins?), but he thought he should at least attempt to eat like a native. A Texas breakfast of steak and eggs was far too extravagant for his budget so he decided to risk a Western omelette- he had no idea what it contained, but it was cheap and sounded appropriate. 

His order given, John sipped coffee and glanced at the scene in the downtown street below. There were few pedestrians. Huge cars, none of which he recognized, cruised at a snail's pace along the thoroughfare. Probably the occupants were intent on reading the garish stock tickers that flickered above almost every store front. Most of the businesses lining the street appeared to be financial institutions of some kind. This was the Houston he had imagined 

Fortified by a huge omelette, home fries and what seemed to be a never ending supply of coffee John prepared to depart. He called over his genial waitress, paid his bill and wished her a good day. 

"Mind y'all come back now," she replied, obviously appreciative of his generous tip.  

During breakfast, John had consulted his city map and decided he had enough time to walk down Main to the university - after all, it was only eighteen blocks. But when he emerged from the revolving door on to the street, he started to doubt. It was like hitting a brick wall. He had never experienced such heat and humidity. To breathe was to sweat. It was only one hundred yards to the junction of Texas and Main but by the time he reached there, John was sweating buckets. He turned right on Main. He could just see the Warwick Hotel in the hazy distance. According to the map, it was situated just outside the entrance to the University. As he made his way along the dusty sidewalks, his pace slowed. After two blocks, he removed the blazer, which he considered appropriate attire for an interview. Another block and he removed his tie. There was no respite. Next, he rolled up his shirt sleeves only see disconcerting dribbles of sweat meandering down his inner arms. His shirt clung to his back. The sweat didn't evaporate so there was no cooling effect. He desperately needed water. 

As he left the downtown core, the air of prosperity vanished; boarded up shops and empty lots now flanked the main thoroughfare. No watering hole offered escape from the scorching sun. John stopped and enviously watched the passing traffic. He thought of hitchhiking, but the sight of shotguns slung across the back windows of pick-up trucks rapidly dissuaded him. Taxis did not seem to frequent this route, but there were buses and occasional bus stops. However, the buses seemed to carry only black folk. Did whites ride the buses? John wasn't sure. 

Fraught with uncertainty, John continued on his way. He was almost dizzy from dehydration when he reached the tree-shaded paths of the University campus. Luckily, he found a drinking water fountain just inside the grounds and was able to refresh himself before making his way to the chemistry department. There, milling about outside the main lecture hall, he encountered a large group of jabbering students. Uniformly dressed, in colorful shirts and Bermuda shorts, they looked as cool as cucumbers. What had they done to avoid the heat? 

The doors opened and they filed into a large lecture room where Mr. Griffiths, the lab director, gave them information on the Ph.D. program, outlined Department rules, and explained how to obtain I.D. cards. An audible gasp filled the room when he also announced there would be two placement exams the following week, one in Organic and one in Physical Chemistry. He explained this was necessary because of the diverse backgrounds of the incoming students. The results of these exams would determine each student's course load during the first semester.