All The "Ias"

"You don't know till you want to know
You don't know till you pass the equator"
-The Equator, by Brooke Fraser

Sometimes when I'm walking down the street, I think about all the "ias" I'm passing. By that, I mean, respectively, the following (the 'ia' is pronounced with a strong "EE-ah" sound):

Panaderia (bread store)
Pasteleria (pastry shop)
Peluqueria (hair/nail salon)
Heledaria (ice cream parlor)
Cafeteria (cafe)
Libreria (book store)
Ferretaria (hard ware store)
Papeleria (office supply store)
Floristeria (florist)
Joyeria (jewelry shop)
Perfumeria (perfumery)
Lavanderia (laundry mat)
Zapateria (shoe store)
Pizzeria (pizza place)


and probably more I can't recall at this moment, or that I haven't yet encountered.

I like how there's such a uniform system for so many various shop names. To myself I smile and call them the 'ias', though of course to anyone who grew up here it's just the way it is.

I wonder what kinds of things we take for granted in the States that are curious, kind of cute, to people who didn't grow up with it as second nature. I read a Tumblr exchange recently which said,

"Things that still freak me out: those sinks Americans have in their kitchens that you can destroy stuff with."
Reply:
"You mean people in other countries don't have garbage disposals?"
Reply:
"Why can't you just put your stuff in the trash and not a monster drain?"

I laughed. It's true that I have never seen a single garbage disposal here, yet it's a standard feature in most US homes. It's also a bit of a luxury to have a dryer, or "fancy" kitchen appliances like toasters or coffee makers, let alone things like waffle irons or specialty blenders. Dishwashers? I've seen one. I mean, when we're over here lighting our stoves with matches and waving down the trucks which exchange empty gas tanks, those kinds of things just aren't high on the importance scale.

So on my way home, I stop by a favorite panaderia to buy bread and milk, and pass by all the other 'ias' along the street. I've started to take this little uniformity for granted, mostly. Like seeing the neighborhood uni-cyclist*, it still makes me smile.



*Seriously, I think I've mentioned him before: older guy, rail thin, appears to be Caucasian, rides a unicycle up and down my fairly steep neighborhood street, helmeted and well-padded, defying death not just by the hill but by the often maniac drivers who blast their horns while barreling through an intersection so that if they crash they have the defense that it wasn't their fault because they proclaimed their presence by honking. Quite entertaining.