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America, land of the free and home of the enormous portions. I ordered a small coffee, and they handed me a bucket with a handle. I felt like Gulliver in the land of Brobdingnag, surrounded by giant-sized snacks. I asked for a small soda, and they gave me a bathtub with a straw. But here's the conflict: I love it and hate it. I mean, I appreciate the generosity, but I'm only human. How am I supposed to finish a 32-ounce steak? That's not a meal; it's a workout. And don't even get me started on the "bottomless" drinks. I asked for a refill, and the waiter looked at me like, "Are you sure you want to commit to this?
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Tipping in America is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. You think you've got it, and then you realize you're way off. I'm standing there, doing mental math, converting currencies, trying to figure out if my tip is generous or just insulting. And the worst part is the guilt trip you get. The waiter looks at you with those puppy dog eyes, and suddenly, you feel like you should be tipping your entire life savings. "Is 15% okay, or should I give them my first-born child?" I just want to eat my burger without feeling like I'm being judged for my math skills.
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I rented a car in America, and let me tell you, driving on the other side of the road is like trying to use chopsticks for the first time. It looks easy until you're sitting there, completely clueless. The roads are huge, and the lanes are wider than my entire neighborhood back home. I feel like I need a passport just to change lanes. And don't even get me started on the turns. You need a GPS and a prayer because everything's so big, you miss your exit, and suddenly you're in the next state.
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You ever travel to a foreign country and immediately regret not paying more attention in geography class? I recently went to America, and let me tell you, jet lag hit me like a freight train. I felt like I'd been teleported to another dimension where time had a personal vendetta against me. And then there's the cultural confusion. You know you're in trouble when you're the only one at customs trying to high-five the officers. I thought that was the American way! They just looked at me like, "Sir, this is an airport, not a basketball game."
I'm trying to adapt, but everything is so different. In America, they drive on the other side of the road, and I'm not just talking about traffic. People are passing on the left, and I'm standing there on the right like, "Wait, are we driving or dancing?
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