Random Differences Between Iran and the US (Part 3)

At this point, I’ve written quite a few of these posts, so I’m not even sure what to call them anymore. Are they quirks? Customs? Endearing differences? Culture shock? Who knows! All I can tell you is that I feel like I could write a million of these because I’m constantly making note of these differences regardless of how random, subtle, or downright unimportant they might seem. Because the truth is that it’s these less obvious things that actually stick out to me like a sore thumb. So here’s part 3 of random differences between Iran and the US. (Yah, let’s just go with that title.) 

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The nâkhunak

Any Scrubs fans out there? Well, there was this episode where JD goes to the grocery store for lunch and he steals a pretzel out of a bin. An employee who sees him tells him that’s stealing and yells, “Security! We’ve got a grazer!” And that’s basically the concept behind the nâkhunak (at least in one context).

I had gone to a dried fruits/nuts shop and was admiring their selection of plump, dried albâloo when my cousin told me to try some. Oh, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. It would be wrong. I can’t just stick my hand in there. I have to buy some first. “Come on, do it! Everyone here does!” And as if I needed a demonstration, she proceeded to show me exactly how by plunging her hand into the tub of dried âlbâloo and taking what I considered to be an all-too generous helping- as if she were at our khâleh’s house. But that’s not all she tried. She helped herself to some dried peaches, apricots, pistachios. She was acting like these were free samples at Costco, while to me, it was more like the bulk bins at Whole Foods. I seriously doubt this would fly there. And while the salespeople in Iran do let you try one of whatever it is you want to buy, I was shocked to learn that “grazing” is pretty ok here. Well, no one calls for security, anyway…

Sidebar: I feel like half of my interactions with my cousin consist of this exchange:

Me: “I can’t do that!”

Cousin: “Bâbâ, injâ Iran-e!” (Dude, this is Iran!)

License plates

Not only do Iranians know each other by the cars they drive, but I’m always impressed by how people know where everyone is from based on their license plate. I mean, in the US, it’s easy. The name of the state is clearly visible. But in Iran, it’s just a number. So evidently that means everyone has just memorized the numbers? Anyway, I always hear people complain that people with #X plates can’t drive or are bad drivers (which in my humble opinion is kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, but who am I to judge).

What’s more entertaining is the thrill some of them have for finding someone from their city in another part of the country. This happened twice with a friend who has Shirazi plates. (So maybe I shouldn’t generalize and just say Shirazi people tend to get excited? Hmmm…) Once we were traveling in Kerman and another time in Chabahar when another car with Shirazi plates came up beside us, honking, so excited to encounter a fellow hamshahri on the road.

Sidebar: Since I’m all about the Persian language here, you might like to know that the Persian idiom for “the pot calling the kettle black” is almost exactly the same!

The metro mirror 

The women are so vain, they probably think that the metro mirror is about them. (Obviously, that was meant in jest, and you were supposed to read it like the Carly Simon song. A little vanity never hurt anyone.) But on a serious note, this is quite possibly one of my favorite quirks. 

The first and last metro cars are for women (women can sit anywhere, but if they prefer to sit separately from men, those cars are reserved for them). So women wait on opposite ends of the platform, where there’s also a mirror… you know… for safety purposes… for the driver. But every time I’m waiting around there, I see woman after woman come right up to the mirror and primp as if it was set up especially for her for this sole purpose. I can’t help but smile every time I witness this action, though. 

Titles

I’ve written about titles before and how important it is to use them in Iranian culture. But one particular use of it that I find cute is the way Iranians add “Mr.” before the names of presidents. (It’s not limited to presidents, but this one always stands out to me.) In the US, it’s common to just say Obama or Trump or Bush. But I notice that Iranians always add that little “Mr.” in there. It’ll happen in my classes when I say something like, “Oh yah, well, when Obama was president…,” and they respond, “Yes, Mr. Obama…”. And then I feel like I was rude for not saying “Mr”. Back when Jason Jones visited Iran for The Daily Show, he asked some locals to name some Americans in government, and it was the same deal- Mr. Bush, Mr. Reagan, Mrs. Pelosi, Mr. Ford… 

Bread 

This is one I’ve noticed since I was a kid, but it was something I always associated with the older generation. Maybe just a pet peeve of theirs. It never really registered until one of my students brought it up in class, and it made me say, “Ok, I have to write about that one for my blog.” Apparently, it peeves the younger generation as well.

My students said they had traveled to another city in Iran and didn’t like the bread there because it was too “khamir.” I nearly spit out my tea. Iranians do not like bread to be khamir. Khamir means “dough,” but when you call bread khamir (meaning you use it as an adjective), you mean that it’s too “doughy”. Like it’s not thin and crispy enough.

My favorite bread is barbari, and ever since I was little, I’ve always loved the ends because they are so doughy. My relatives, on the other hand, always emptied out that part and tossed it aside on the sofreh. But that’s the best part! And if sangak bread isn’t cooked enough? Forget about it! “The shâter wasn’t skilled enough. Look at how khamir this sangak is!” But baguettes have it even worse. The insides are extracted to the point that only the shell remains. The look of horror on my German aunt’s face was priceless when one of my cousins took out the doughy insides of the brötchen. “Such a waste!” I mean, she’s not wrong… 

Public transportation “etiquette”

You’ll never catch me reading or listening to anything in public. I like to notice my surroundings and catch snippets of random conversations. It somehow gives me ideas. And public transportation is a great place to observe mannerisms. Things that make me wonder- how would this go down in the US? 

Like just the other day, I was about to get on the bus when I noticed one more passenger getting off, so I stepped back. She reached out her hand, and after a split-second of sheer confusion, I reached out mine to help her off. Cardi B’s voice came screaming in my head “CORONA VIRUS!”, but that’s what hand sani’s for, right? I have a feeling that an Iranian wouldn’t have been fazed by such a thing, whereas my American wiring took a minute to process. 

When the metro car is fairly empty, I’m always reminded of that Seinfeld episode where Kramer vies for an empty seat. That’s what it feels like here, too. I usually stand even if there’s an empty seat. But I’ve noticed that other women always tell me that there’s an empty seat I can take. It’s as if they can’t understand why I would stand when I could easily sit. I’ve noticed these women generally tend to be older. Maybe it’s the motherly instinct. Whatever it is, it’s sweet.

And the most surprising: if you are standing and carrying a heavy bag or something, the person sitting close to you will often tell you to rest your bag on their lap. I wrote about this on an Instagram post, and someone replied that it’s actually quite common and that she herself did it a lot. All I know is that if this happened in the US, I would not be so kind. 

Blood type

Do you know your blood type? Iranians are surprised when I say I don’t. They know theirs because it’s on their driver’s license. Quite logical. So I googled it, and according to Google at least, most Americans don’t know their blood type. I guess I never gave it much thought until a registration form I was filling out recently asked for my blood type. This one is going on my need-to-know list.

Fast food trays

At fast-food joints in the US, you eat and throw your trash away. You don’t leave it on the table. But in Iran, you do! Because it’s someone’s job to bus the table- yep, even in food courts and fast food places. I feel awkward just leaving my tray on the table, so the American in me takes charge to clean up after myself. But every time I’ve tried, someone rushes over. “I’ll take that for your, miss!” Really, I’m perfectly capable of discarding my own trash. 

And it’s not just the throwing away trash part. You can even give them your little pager thing and ask them to bring your food when it’s ready. An upgraded fast food experience, if you will. 

Baby names

When I first started working in Iran, I had a co-worker who was pregnant. It was her first and she was excited. She immediately told me the name she and her husband had chosen, and I remember being surprised that she was so ok with disclosing it. Because the US may be all about gender reveal parties gone awry, but by God, they will keep the name a secret if it’s the last thing they do! Even Monica didn’t want to tell Rachel the girl name she had chosen so that Rachel wouldn’t steal the name (which of course she did). 

But this doesn’t really seem to be an issue in Iran where I’ve even had students consult me about a name and how it would potentially be pronounced in the West were they to immigrate. It’s quite possible that none of them saw me as a threat, but I’m going to go ahead and generalize that Iranians are ok with revealing the baby’s name before it’s born. Anyway, this is probably among the first differences I ever noticed. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to mention.

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