I spy, with my little eye, something that starts with ... G." "Sausages.

Sejal had not thought of her home, or of India as a whole, as cool. She was dimly aware, however, of a white Westerner habit of wearing other cultures like T-shirts—the sticker bindis on club kids, sindoor in the hair of an unmarried pop star, Hindi characters inked carelessly on tight tank tops and pale flesh. She knew Americans liked to flash a little Indian or Japanese or African. They were always looking for a little pepper to put in their dish.

What part of Canada are you from, honey?" "THE LEFT PART," said Jay.

Can I see some ID?" "WE DON'T HAVE ID," said Jay, loudly. "'CAUSE WE'RE CANADIAN. WE DON'T USE ID...THERE. AND THAT'S WHY WE LOOK SO YOUNG. 'CAUSE WE'RE CANADIAN." Doug stiffened. Jay sounded crazy. Doug tried looking extra sane to even things out.

I was the funny, outgoing kid who didn't understand how he could keep getting mistaken for a nerd nobody liked.

Is there a short-eared koobish, then?' Mmmyes ...' said J.Lo. 'But it is technically not really a koobish. Is more alike a kind of singing pumpkin.' We had conversations like these all the time, where I just eventually gave up.

We found the bathrooms, which were labeled 'Aliens' and 'Femaliens.' 'Finally,' I said to J.Lo. 'Here's a bathroom you're allowed to use.