Culture Shock, Chapter 3: Language, (Saul and Ellen), 3/12
Chapter 3: Language (Saul and Ellen)
Though the Canadian Government, in conjunction with the GEECs, had offered to pay airfare for anyone who wanted to relocate in North America, unlike most of the Colonials, Saul and Ellen Tigh did not immediately take them up on this generous offer. The couple concluded they needed to engage in a little research before deciding on where they wanted to live, and they thought it only responsible to start their investigation right away.
So, the first thing the Tighs did upon release from quarantine was hop in a taxi and tell the driver to take them to the nearest bar.
Saul and Ellen were happy to see that bars looked the same everywhere. This one was completely empty except for the bartender, so they took seats right next to him at the bar.
“Bring us two Dirty Blue Galataeas, Barkeep,” Tigh said, tapping his fist on the bar good-naturedly and throwing his other arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “And don’t skimp on the galven.”
“Uh,” said the bartender, “I don’t think I’m familiar with that drink.”
“Provincials,” Ellen said under her breath to Saul, rolling her eyes. “Two Delphic Rollers would be just fine,” she said to the bartender sweetly. The bartender just stared at her, confused. “Delphic Rollers? One part kal, two parts rommin, a shot of black strattilum, and a lemon twist?”
The bartender’s jaw hung open for a moment. “You folks aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Very true,” admitted Ellen. “They did tell us in our alien integration sessions that there would be certain cultural differences. And my husband and I do have rather esoteric, sophisticated tastes.”
“Did they download a frakking dictionary into your head after you died, too?” Tigh asked, grinning but perplexed.
“If you folks aren’t terribly picky, let’s do it this way,” said the bartender, who was beginning to look a little nervous. “I’ll tell you what I know how to make, and you pick one that you like. Okay?”
Saul and Ellen looked at each other, smiled, and nodded.
“All right then. How ‘bout a Screwdriver?”
“A what?” Saul asked.
“Or a Rob Roy?”
“Who?” asked Ellen.
“Martini?”
Blank stares.
“Red-Headed Slut?”
Ellen had to bite her lip to keep from making a joke about Roslin-even she recognized it would be in bad taste, now that Roslin was bald-so she just shook her head.
“Fuzzy navel?”
Saul and Ellen both grimaced. “Sounds like bellybutton lint,” Ellen said, sticking out her tongue.
“Gin and tonic,” said the bartender, his eyes lighting up. “That’s gin, plus tonic.”
“What’s gin?” asked Tigh.
The bartender slapped his hand against his forehead. “This isn’t going to work.”
Tigh’s eye went wide with horror. “My Gods, Ellen. What if we can’t get a mixed drink ever again? I lived on algae alcohol for awhile, but there’s so many kinds here…it would be a shame to live on beer.” He swept his hand, indicating the dozens of liquor bottles adorning the back of the bar.
Ellen sighed. “This is ridiculous.” She hopped gracefully from the barstool and backed up against the bar, placing her hands on the countertop. “Help me up, will you, Saul?”
Saul gave her a look, but he took her by the waist and helped her jump up so she was sitting on the bar.
“Thank you, darling. I can take it from here.” Ellen simpered and squealed a little bit as she spun and threw her legs over to the other side of the bar. She jumped off and landed lightly beside the bartender, who looked worried. He had the good sense to get out of Ellen’s way, though.
Ellen rubbed her hands together, then plucked three liquor bottles from the collection. “I think it’s high time we participated in a little cultural exchange, don’t you?”
Ellen set the bottles down just long enough to pull three glasses out from under the bar. She poured a small sample from the first bottle into each of the glasses.
“To cultural enrichment,” Ellen said, clinking glasses with Saul and the befuddled bartender.
Ellen and Saul knocked back the liquor in one gulp, slammed down their glasses simultaneously, and chorused, “Rommin!”
“Tequila!” the bartender yelled just as happily.
They repeated this process with the second bottle. “Chally!”
“Rum!”
And then, the third. “Whiskey!”
The bartender stood in shocked amazement for a moment before he said, “Oh, hey, whiskey! We call it whiskey, too!”
For some reason-some reason in addition to the shots of tequila and rum-finding this bit of cultural commonality made Saul and Ellen especially ecstatic. So much so that Saul felt the need to lean over the bar to give Ellen a celebratory kiss, and Ellen felt the need to pour them all another shot of whiskey before moving on to several of the other bottles in the bar’s collection.
After Saul and Ellen had tested not all but a very respectable percentage of the bar’s selection-the bartender had stopped somewhere between vermouth and peppermint schnapps, switching over to merely pointing out the bottles’ labels-a sad realization stopped Ellen in mid-drunken-giggle.
“Wait a minute,” slurred Ellen, “where’s your ambrosia?”
“Our what?”
“Yeah, ambrosia,” said Saul, leaning heavily against the bar, even as it spun a little under him. “You know, the bright green stuff. Has a real kick to it, but kind of leaves you a really clear sort of drunk.”
The bartender thought for a moment. “Oh, you must mean absinthe.”
“We must,” Ellen smiled. “Where do you keep this absinthe?”
“Oh, we don’t sell it here. It’s illegal.”
Saul and Ellen’s jaws dropped. “No. You’re kidding!” said Saul.
“Afraid not.”
“Is it illegal everywhere?” asked Ellen.
“No, no. Every country has its own rules about that sort of thing.” Ellen and Tigh sighed in relief. “In fact, it’s legal in some of the other provinces, even.”
“Which ones?” Ellen asked eagerly.
“Oh, I don’t know ‘em all off the top of my head… I think British Columbia is one of ‘em.”
Tigh and Ellen just stared at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“Nobody from outside Canada learns about Canadian provinces, do they?” the bartender said dejectedly. “You know, Vancouver?”
Ellen and Saul looked at each other. Saul bellowed, “Well, sounds like we’re movin’ to Vancouver! Thanks for the tip, Joe!”
They tipped the bartender generously and went out into the night, now confident of where they’d make their new home and very happy they’d done their research before settling down.
On to Chapter 4: Mating Rituals (Dee, Seelix, and Racetrack)...
Though the Canadian Government, in conjunction with the GEECs, had offered to pay airfare for anyone who wanted to relocate in North America, unlike most of the Colonials, Saul and Ellen Tigh did not immediately take them up on this generous offer. The couple concluded they needed to engage in a little research before deciding on where they wanted to live, and they thought it only responsible to start their investigation right away.
So, the first thing the Tighs did upon release from quarantine was hop in a taxi and tell the driver to take them to the nearest bar.
Saul and Ellen were happy to see that bars looked the same everywhere. This one was completely empty except for the bartender, so they took seats right next to him at the bar.
“Bring us two Dirty Blue Galataeas, Barkeep,” Tigh said, tapping his fist on the bar good-naturedly and throwing his other arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “And don’t skimp on the galven.”
“Uh,” said the bartender, “I don’t think I’m familiar with that drink.”
“Provincials,” Ellen said under her breath to Saul, rolling her eyes. “Two Delphic Rollers would be just fine,” she said to the bartender sweetly. The bartender just stared at her, confused. “Delphic Rollers? One part kal, two parts rommin, a shot of black strattilum, and a lemon twist?”
The bartender’s jaw hung open for a moment. “You folks aren’t from around here, are you?”
“Very true,” admitted Ellen. “They did tell us in our alien integration sessions that there would be certain cultural differences. And my husband and I do have rather esoteric, sophisticated tastes.”
“Did they download a frakking dictionary into your head after you died, too?” Tigh asked, grinning but perplexed.
“If you folks aren’t terribly picky, let’s do it this way,” said the bartender, who was beginning to look a little nervous. “I’ll tell you what I know how to make, and you pick one that you like. Okay?”
Saul and Ellen looked at each other, smiled, and nodded.
“All right then. How ‘bout a Screwdriver?”
“A what?” Saul asked.
“Or a Rob Roy?”
“Who?” asked Ellen.
“Martini?”
Blank stares.
“Red-Headed Slut?”
Ellen had to bite her lip to keep from making a joke about Roslin-even she recognized it would be in bad taste, now that Roslin was bald-so she just shook her head.
“Fuzzy navel?”
Saul and Ellen both grimaced. “Sounds like bellybutton lint,” Ellen said, sticking out her tongue.
“Gin and tonic,” said the bartender, his eyes lighting up. “That’s gin, plus tonic.”
“What’s gin?” asked Tigh.
The bartender slapped his hand against his forehead. “This isn’t going to work.”
Tigh’s eye went wide with horror. “My Gods, Ellen. What if we can’t get a mixed drink ever again? I lived on algae alcohol for awhile, but there’s so many kinds here…it would be a shame to live on beer.” He swept his hand, indicating the dozens of liquor bottles adorning the back of the bar.
Ellen sighed. “This is ridiculous.” She hopped gracefully from the barstool and backed up against the bar, placing her hands on the countertop. “Help me up, will you, Saul?”
Saul gave her a look, but he took her by the waist and helped her jump up so she was sitting on the bar.
“Thank you, darling. I can take it from here.” Ellen simpered and squealed a little bit as she spun and threw her legs over to the other side of the bar. She jumped off and landed lightly beside the bartender, who looked worried. He had the good sense to get out of Ellen’s way, though.
Ellen rubbed her hands together, then plucked three liquor bottles from the collection. “I think it’s high time we participated in a little cultural exchange, don’t you?”
Ellen set the bottles down just long enough to pull three glasses out from under the bar. She poured a small sample from the first bottle into each of the glasses.
“To cultural enrichment,” Ellen said, clinking glasses with Saul and the befuddled bartender.
Ellen and Saul knocked back the liquor in one gulp, slammed down their glasses simultaneously, and chorused, “Rommin!”
“Tequila!” the bartender yelled just as happily.
They repeated this process with the second bottle. “Chally!”
“Rum!”
And then, the third. “Whiskey!”
The bartender stood in shocked amazement for a moment before he said, “Oh, hey, whiskey! We call it whiskey, too!”
For some reason-some reason in addition to the shots of tequila and rum-finding this bit of cultural commonality made Saul and Ellen especially ecstatic. So much so that Saul felt the need to lean over the bar to give Ellen a celebratory kiss, and Ellen felt the need to pour them all another shot of whiskey before moving on to several of the other bottles in the bar’s collection.
After Saul and Ellen had tested not all but a very respectable percentage of the bar’s selection-the bartender had stopped somewhere between vermouth and peppermint schnapps, switching over to merely pointing out the bottles’ labels-a sad realization stopped Ellen in mid-drunken-giggle.
“Wait a minute,” slurred Ellen, “where’s your ambrosia?”
“Our what?”
“Yeah, ambrosia,” said Saul, leaning heavily against the bar, even as it spun a little under him. “You know, the bright green stuff. Has a real kick to it, but kind of leaves you a really clear sort of drunk.”
The bartender thought for a moment. “Oh, you must mean absinthe.”
“We must,” Ellen smiled. “Where do you keep this absinthe?”
“Oh, we don’t sell it here. It’s illegal.”
Saul and Ellen’s jaws dropped. “No. You’re kidding!” said Saul.
“Afraid not.”
“Is it illegal everywhere?” asked Ellen.
“No, no. Every country has its own rules about that sort of thing.” Ellen and Tigh sighed in relief. “In fact, it’s legal in some of the other provinces, even.”
“Which ones?” Ellen asked eagerly.
“Oh, I don’t know ‘em all off the top of my head… I think British Columbia is one of ‘em.”
Tigh and Ellen just stared at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“Nobody from outside Canada learns about Canadian provinces, do they?” the bartender said dejectedly. “You know, Vancouver?”
Ellen and Saul looked at each other. Saul bellowed, “Well, sounds like we’re movin’ to Vancouver! Thanks for the tip, Joe!”
They tipped the bartender generously and went out into the night, now confident of where they’d make their new home and very happy they’d done their research before settling down.
On to Chapter 4: Mating Rituals (Dee, Seelix, and Racetrack)...