Seattle-Tacoma International Airport
As we got into the terminal we followed the crowd and got in line with some folks waiting for their turn at the immigration desk.
“Returning residents and American citizens, please follow me,” an official-sounding lady announced.
My father stepped out of line and we followed him. He was an American citizen and returning resident. There was no line at all for us. We were processed through and off we went to our gate for the connecting flight to San Francisco.
On the way a couple of very nice looking young men stopped Ruth and me to ask where Gate #26 was. In response, we giggled, “Sorry, but we don’t know. We’re new here.” They thanked us nonetheless and went on their way. Ruth and I felt good. Did we really blend that well with our new environment? Huhm.
It was a very short flight to San Francisco. Ruth and I made like we were really seasoned travelers. The truth of the matter was, this was our first flight outside of the Philippines. We were very much impressed with most everything we had experienced so far. Soon we were landing. Another peek through our window, but we couldn’t see anything but the runway and airport personnel scurrying to and fro. We could also see those little vehicles that shuttle between the terminal and different spots on the tarmac. In a few minutes we were deplaning and then into those passenger tubes that led to the gates of the terminals.
They were all there – my sisters Lu and Josephine, and her husband and little Ariel and Sarah Jane. We hadn’t seen each other since they left the Philippines about four years ago. There was a lot of kissing and hugging and excitement. What a tremendous reunion!
A Victorian Flat
The car ride from the airport must have taken no more than 25 minutes. So this was what a freeway was like. Everyone was going the same direction and there were no traffic lights. Then we took an exit and ended on a street. My brother-in-law, who was driving, made some turns and soon we were on Church Street.
“There, “ Lu says, “is our flat.” She had to explain to us how a “flat” was different from an apartment.
We walked in and I was impressed. Nice wall-to-wall carpeting and French doors, too. The dining table had all kinds of fruit in a tray – great big red apples, grapes, pears and oranges. Wow, we only had those in the Philippines during Christmas time. They were so expensive there that we had them only for special occasions.
As could be expected, there was a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of stories to tell. At the end of the day my sisters told us they were giving us a special treat the following day. They were taking us to a popular restaurant for lunch. And so, our first day in the United States concluded with thoughts of exciting experiences that would come with tomorrow.
A Very Special Restaurant
It was with much anticipation that we all piled into my sister’s car that would take us to the very special restaurant on Mission St. that she promised us. She pulled into the parking lot and led us into the restaurant. There was a tall pillar with the sculpture of a dog’s head. Why, in the world do they have that statue there? “Doggie Diner” the sign said.
Ruth and I were looking very puzzled but we kept quiet. Lu and Josephine were now laughing. Lu announced, “Welcome to Doggie Diner, a famous American institution!” This was our first American hotdog experience. Thus, was our introduction to life in these beautiful United States.
Into the American Way of Life
There were many things to learn. How to ride the buses. Yes, you just drop your coins into the coin boxes. There are no “conductors” like our buses in the Philippines would have. No inspectors to check your tickets. There are designated bus stops. You can’t just yell out “Para” (“stop” in Tagalog) to get off. You don’t go jaywalking either. The streets were not noisy with honking horns like in Manila. Horns are used sparingly. Grocery stores are mostly self-served. You pick your purchases, put them in your cart and check them out at the cashier’s. And do not try to sample the fruits or any other products like the way you do in Philippine markets. Definitely do NOT.
Americans have strange ways. If they don’t know your name, they will call you “dear” or “honey.” And little children call older folks by their first names. And on and on the learning went. Some lessons were plain to see, but others were more subtle.
The First Job
Two weeks later, my sisters thought it was time for Ruth and me to look for work. Josephine took me to ABAR Employment agency on Market St. I must have looked ridiculous. “Fresh off the boat” must have been written all over me. San Francisco was into the first days of Indian summer and there I was with my faux wool dress-length coat! (This we bought at a second-hand store in Pasay City in the Philippines a few weeks before we left.) We talked to a very nice lady, Dorothy, who told us that she would try to place me and that I would not have to pay any fee. My future employer would pay for it. She gave me a series of what they called “Wonderlit” tests that evaluated language and Math skills. Then she gave me a typing test which I failed miserably. Dorothy told me to practice typing and if I didn’t have a typewriter, I could rent one, practice for two weeks then go back to the agency. I did as she said and she tested me again. This time I passed. I could hear her call a few places and then minutes later, she told me I had an appointment at an insurance company for a job as a rater.
I went to the office of the Yosemite Insurance Company at 726 Market Street. The personnel director took me to the office of the Supervisor of the Underwriting/Rating Department and introduced me. As I sat at his desk the Supervisor told me what the company was about and what my responsibilities would be if hired. He asked me a few questions, and tested me with the “Wonderlit” tests I had been given at the agency. After about 20 minutes the interview was over. I went back to ABAR to wait for the result. Dorothy called the Supervisor to ask for his decision. As I listened, I knew I had the job.
“Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you?” I heard Dorothy excitedly say, “And she does not even have an accent!
I had and still do have my Philippines accent, but I don’t think Dorothy heard it because she was such a nice and kind lady. She knew I needed a job and she was determined to help me.
And thus began my adventure in this adopted country, and a love relationship that started with stories from my father and continues to the present day – 44 years later.
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