The thing about scams

I've been cheated.

The Ol' Canadian Coin Switch Up strikes again.

Yes, being from the Midwest this has been a startling new discovery. It turns out that many Western New Yorkers are familiar with this scam.

A cashier hands you some change, and you, the trusting individual, simply eyeball the coins. You walk out of the bank, store, restaurant, gas station etc. none the wiser.

It isn't until you need that nickel or empty your pockets that you discover that what you thought was an American quarter is actually a Canadian quarter and what you thought was a shiny American nickel is actually a Canadian nickel. (The picture above is a mix of Canadian and American coins, can you tell the difference?)

At this point one's ethics comes into play: do you pass the coin forward and hope no one notices (as so unfortunately happened to you) or do you cut your losses and hold on to it for your next trip across the border?

I've opted for the latter, but it still kind of bugs me. It's pocket change I admit, but after some rather unscientific polling in line at the post office today, it sounds like banks, restaurants and other legit entities have been known to pass on the tender as fraudulent American money.

I would like to believe that it's all exchanged in error and that people are simply passing on the same mistake, but the buck has to stop somewhere. No pun intended.

No doubt the proximity to Canada brings the coins into circulation in America on a daily basis (and vice versa,) but the ones who lose out are those of us who aren't border hopping regularly .

I'm losing about 6 cents to the American dollar for every nickel and quarter of mine that turns into Canadian money and that's not even taking into consideration the very unlikely possibility that I'll use these coins in Canada any time soon.

So I'll be more vigilant, but you should too, Mr. ClerkWhoGivesMeCanadianMoneyinAmerica.

Besides, I really need those quarters for the laundromat and the washers and dryers CAN tell the difference.

The thing about names

I had a conversation with a gentleman Saturday who kept referring to me by the wrong name. The entire time. On the awkward spectrum, this ranks fairly high because both parties involved can easily become embarrassed if the truth is revealed.

For his purposes, I was "Barbara." To be sure, NOT my name, not even a very pretty name (no offense Barbaras.) Not once, not twice, at least five times he referred to me as such. I could have corrected him, but by the time I realized his error was not actually an allusion to another woman, it was too late.

I was Barbara. I felt bad correcting him so late in the game, even though we had just become acquainted half an hour earlier. His mistake, so why should I be embarrassed? Good question.

I reasoned he associated my last name with a famous Barbara of a similar last name and thus when searching for my first name when memory failed, he remembered my memorable last name and went for the familiarity point.

What kills me is how someone can manage to say your name that many times in a conversation. Not only say it, but say it wrong.

Perhaps I'm unusual, but I rarely say someone's name while conversing with them. In fact, if I even slightly doubt my name recollection, I will entirely avoid naming names all together.

Think about it:

"Hey, how are you?...So how's work at such and such...Have you ever gone grocery shopping at Wegman's? Oh really, they sell pickled pigs feet?" That sort of thing.

No need for first names. That's not saying you have to be impersonal, but practical.

When in doubt, my name isn't Barbara and you don't ever have to reference me when we're already speaking face to face.

Ok, John? or was it Ralph?

The thing about learning a foreign language

Last night my boyfriend got some disturbing news.

He was busy grading his students' Spanish compositions, which keep him abnormally busy as they are usually riddled with grammatical errors, when one student's composition revealed a startling detail about her dog.

"Mi perro Jack tiene dos anos."
translation: My dog Jack has two anuses.

She was likely going for "My dog Jack is 2 years old" but leaving the ˜ off the ñ sure makes for a fun read. Luckily she followed it up with,

"Mi otro perro solo tiene un ano"
translation: My other dog only has one anus.


Español 101
ano = anus
año = year

Good to know.

The thing about lists

The September edition of Buffalo Spree magazine is all about the "Best of WNY." I love "Best of" lists as much as the next VH1 junkie, and I've taken it upon myself to try out all their picks. Nevermind it could take a year. Or two. From best pho to best margarita, I'm trying to knock a few things off the list every week. To be fair, I have nothing to compare their picks to except for judgment by my own humble palate, so this is a rather unscientific sampling. Here's what I've tested:

Chocolate/Candy: Choco-logo --- Great for a post-DMV pick me up. Pretty much the most fabulous chocolate ever. Whole, creamy and completely delish. A little pricey for my tastes with specialty chocolates for 19.99/lb., but the prices keep my calorie count in check.

Enchilada: La Tolteca --- There were so many enchilada choices I wasn't sure which one Buffalo Spree was referring to, but my pick (one cheese, one beef, one chicken, one bean) was delightful going in and amazingly didn't leave me with that tell-tale "you've-over-eaten-at-a-mexican-restaurant"-feeling.

Margarita: La Tolteca (see above) --- The waitress recommended their $9.99 better-have-a-designated-driver 16 oz. margarita. On the rocks and with salt, it had more alcohol than I expected, but it went well with the Enchilada.

Bread: Wegman's --- My boyfriend is European and craves their baguettes.

Pho: Red Pepper --- I didn't know what Pho was before eating at Red Pepper. I certainly didn't know that soup could be served in such mass quantities that it quickly becomes a left-overs item. Spicy and light, it's an excellent option for a quick lunch or a cold winter day.

Place to throw a party: Pearl Street Brewery --- We tried Pearl Street for my boyfriend's birthday party and while I enjoyed the atmosphere, I can't say it was that much more impressive than an average bar. Judging by the number of couples having their wedding receptions there (two), the upper floors might have something I missed. I will give them props for their signature "Trainwreck" home brew.

Frozen Custard: Anderson's --- Last night I tried a swirl of vanilla and pumpkin custard. I needed a little pick me up after the president interrupted "America's Got Talent" for "America's Got Problems." I highly recommend Anderson's as a good investment for stimulating the economy...

So those are 7 of the 189 winners. I could be at this for a while...

The thing about Buffalo

Buffalo, it seems is like Cutco knives: A tough sell until you personally see the kitchen shears cut the penny in half. I know this because I'm from Kansas. A state that at best has people assuming you've spent your life in a small farm house in the middle of a field a la "Little House on the Prairie" and at worst compartmentalizes your existence into a tornado of cliches from The Wizard of Oz.

It was with that in mind that when I told friends I was moving to Buffalo, even the Kansans thought I was a little nuts. One Michigan friend summed it up quite succinctly on facebook, "Buffalo? You're kidding...what the (expletive) is in Buffalo?" I didn't think that was very nice, but when the lady at the DMV asked me three times (I couldn't tell if she was kidding or serious) to confirm I really wanted to move to Buffalo, I started wondering the same thing.

I got here just in time to enjoy the end of summer; the summer being a major gloating point for Western New Yorkers. "Yeah, the winter can be a little rough, but the summers are to die for!" This is promising sentiment but since the summer has quickly turned to fall, I guess I'll have to wait for next April for the snow to melt (or is it June?) and bust out the t-shirts once again.

I'm discovering each day is full of kitchen shears-cut-penny-type surprises, however. Those are the good ones, kind of unbelievable and impressive. Grocery stores, for example. Buffalo Grocery stores leave me flustered. I joined the Lexington Co-Op to satisfy my crunchy tendencies even before I found Wegman's, a store with an enormous range of services and goodies that will no doubt become a bi-weekly event. Elmwood Village and Allentown are filled with enough urban hipsters, boutiques and kitch little restaurants like Betty's Place to make any culture snob rethink their opinion on Buffalo.

So I'm trying. Trying not to hate the 19 stoplights within a 2.5 mile stretch of Main Street near my house, trying not to wreck my car while driving up my 6 foot wide driveway squished between two of those fabulous Victorian style Buffalo homes. Trying to make it to the Farmer's Market on Saturdays, to the gym on Mondays and make some new friends in the mean time.

Who knows...maybe even a job if Buffalo is really kind to me...