A compilation of observations, and a rant from June 2011
Five days after I moved to London three years ago, I travelled to New York City for Easter weekend with Hitesh and his friends. The objective – to eat big fat American food, party, shop, and then eat some more. Although I was meeting most of Hitesh’s friends only for the second time, we had something in common – we all had a joke or two to share about our host country, and we hit it off really well. Not to forget the bonding over stacks of pancakes, and dude-ing and that’s todally awesome-ing each other along the way. And then, exactly three years later, we travelled to France with another set of friends for Easter break this year, and we were eating breakfast in our French treehouse when I mentioned my upcoming Kellogg reunion in the US and my friend responded with something seriously hilarious in an American accent. That was it! We spoke Americanisms and with an American accent for the rest of our trip and kept ourselves, and our friends’ 9 month old son thoroughly entertained.
It might sound like I’m exaggerating when I say I’ve come across at least one American every single day since I came back from Chicago, but I’m not. I swear to God, I have. On the tube, in the train, in the restaurants, at work, everywhere! They’re so hard to miss!
Before I get to the heart of what I’m about to say I think I need to make it clear that I’m definitely going to offend some people, I will not be able to strike a chord with some people, and I will strike a chord with some. I must also add that the unbiased human being in me thinks that America is the greatest nation most of us will see in our lifetime; no China, no India, or no other country will come close to achieving what America has. America is, in the true sense of the word, a superpower. The not-so-unbiased human being in me, however, thinks there isn’t another country whose eccentricities could serve to entertain so thoroughly. Apart from India, of course. I’m Canadian by birth, so I think I’ve earned the right to do what I’m about to do anyway – go on a rant about some of these eccentricities.
I have no data to back this up but I can confidently say that America is the world’s most talked about nation – people who love it talk about it, people who hate it talk about it. And people (like me) who neither love it nor hate it talk about it. ‘America’ makes for a great topic of conversation. Every other country can be the topic of conversation every now and then, but no other country can consistently be the topic of conversation every now and every then.
The Americans are a very friendly lot. So much so, it’s almost as if they think you’ll be offended if they don’t make conversation with you regardless of how little they know you. We all know it’s not unusual for an American to say hi to you even if you’re a complete stranger. Encounter someone smiling and saying ‘Hi’ or ‘Hey, how are ya’ to you on a sidewalk in any part of the world and you can be sure that nine times out of ten it was an American you encountered. Hitesh and I were waiting our turn to use the computer at our hotel in Stockholm few years ago when the guy using it got up and left saying, “Hi, I’m Gary, from Texas”. To this day, I kick myself for not responding with a “Oh Hi Gary, I’m Sonal from Maharashtra, and this is Hitesh from Karnataka”. Sorry to disappoint you Gary, but do I care that you’re Gary, from Texas? Am I supposed to know where Texas is? And is there just one Gary in Texas? Talking about being friendly (or making conversation for the heck of it, really), I was at White House¦Black Market, one of my favourite US stores, earlier this year. The saleswoman walked up to me and said, “Hi there! Is there anything in particular you're looking for todayyy?" to which I said I'm just looking around so she responded "Ohhh I thaaght that maybe you have a wedding to go to... or perhaps a special occasion... like being a bridesmaid... or something like that". Really? Whatever gave you that impression? No, please explain.
The Americans are arrogant about being American. Apparently, they grow up being taught (officially, in school) that they’re the greatest nation in the world – I didn’t know until I heard a professor publicly acknowledging this in one of my classes. It obviously works wonders for their nation building; sincere kudos to them for that. But it also makes them arrogant. I was listening in on a conversation where an American friend was talking about her summer plans. “I have an internship in the UK but I want to do one in a developing country, so I’m still looking”, to which another friend responded very matter of factly, “Oh! The UK is developing enough! ”. It was obvious from the guffaw that followed that they were both very amused. So was I, to tell you the truth. I mean, it’s amusing to see the kind of things that can entertain them. One of my professors, who I found funny for reasons completely different from those that my American classmates did constantly engaged in such forms of entertainment. “So today we’re going to talk about the Cournot model. Cournot was a French philosopher and mathematician. Hey, since when have the French started teaching us what to do?” Ha ha ha. And then another day he kicked off a lecture with “So today we’re going to discuss a case study based in Canada. Anyone wanna guess which industry we’re going to talk about? You got it, we’re going to talk about the Canadian timber industry. There isn’t much else to talk about in Canada, is there nowww??”
The Americans are outright and outspoken to the point of being politically incorrect more often than not. I was looking for a pair of sunglasses on my trip to the US earlier this year. The saleswoman asked me to try on a pair with a thick black frame. “I’m looking for oversized sunglasses, but something that’s not so overpowering. Black just seems too dark”. So she gave me a brown one with a more delicate frame. “Yeah, this one’s better... do you have any more like this?” “I do, but I think the black suits you better. It goes well with your hair. The brown just blends in with your skin, but it’s up to you”. REALLY? Sorry miss, I’m brown and proud, but do I really look like dark chocolate to you? And I’m nowhere close to the target market for Fair n Lovely, India’s (and the world’s) largest selling fairness cream. And then I remember “you knowww, this one time” when I was travelling back to London with this American girl I had just been introduced to at a common friend’s wedding. We were checking in when she happened to see my passport. “You’re Canadian?? Were you born on holiday?!?!?” Oh! My! God! I was so amused and flabbergasted at the same time. I mean, how racist? And how politically incorrect? And if that wasn’t enough, she went on to say, “The Americans have an opinion of Canada” to which I retorted with my proudest Canadian moment to date – “Yeah, you know what, the Canadians have an opinion of America as well”. And you know what, I’m pretty sure most of the rest of the world does too.
The Americans interlink different things in their mind in a very intriguing way. Almost like using memory aids to remember little things, and then verbalizing it so you can remember forever as well. On our trip to Italy few weeks ago, we overheard an American girl as she was doing just this, “Omygawd omygawd, this gelato tastes just like ice-creammmm”. Really? I wonder whyyyy. Our friends had some American tourists on one of their guided tours in Turkey. One of the Americans started making conversation with the guide, and then asked him his name. “Hassan”. “Hassan as in Hassan from the Kite Runner?? I’m Jaan (that’s John with an American accent)”. My friend almost prompted Hassan to respond with a “John, as in John the Baptist?” How funny it would be if Hassan had actually asked, but he just came back with an innocent, “Yeah, same name, but I’m not the same guy”, almost as if to be averting the obvious next question.
The Americans have a habit of making an analogy of everything. I was at a friend’s barbeque this summer, talking to an American I had just met. He was chewing on a pork rib as we talked, and then suddenly out of nowhere he goes, “This pork rib is just like a popsicle” “Uh?!?!?!?!?!?” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, except I knew I was going to add it to my mental database of Americanisms. Later, I was at a meeting, discussing a crucial business strategy that needed some rethinking. And then an American colleague summarized the situation, “At first, our strategy was like one of those water pistol games, you know. You kept shooting the damn thing but you never quite hit the target. I think about it like this airplane that had been waiting forever but never took off. And now it’s like it’s just about to take off any minute”. Everyone listened intently as I wondered if I was the only person finding this amusing.
visited 22 states (44%)
The Americans take homeland security to a completely different level. A bit too far some find, but if this is what it takes to protect the nation from terror attacks, I’m all for it – but American Immigrations officers are undoubtedly some of the rudest in the trade. I have been through US Immigrations and Customs exactly 18 times. I remember not because I like to keep a track of the stamps on my passport, but because I remember each one of those 18 instances very vividly. Each one of them has been a unique experience not easy to forget. The second time I travelled to the US, I was on a project in London, using my consulting “fly back” to visit a friend in NYC for a weekend instead of going back home to Bombay. I was put through a special Immigrations queue – the “long route” – where the officer summarized our fifteen minute conversation saying, “So, Ms Tarneha, you’re Canadian but you live in India and you’re now visiting your friend in New York on a weekend trip from the UK using a ticket you just bought yesterday?” It sounded like the perfect terrorist story, except I suspect terrorists would not give it to you on a platter like that. “Yes, that is exactly right”. “And your company is paying for this weekend trip for you to visit your friend? What company could that be, if I may ask”. “Yes. (And guess what?) It’s an American company!” I said before I mentioned the name. I couldn’t believe I was being cheeky to an American Immigrations officer, but boy what a pleasure it was!!! And then I remember the time I was returning to Chicago from a short visit to Toronto last year. I didn’t present my I-20 (student authorisation) so the Immigrations officer asked me “Ma’am, did you know that you need to present your I-20 each time you enter the United States as a student? DID you or DID you NOT?” Yes, I did, but did you know that you could have saved some energy if you’d used fewer words and just asked if I could PLEASE show you my I-20? DID you or DID you NOT, Mr I’m-so-patronizing-I-stink? Contrast this to the experience I had just had that very day up north, in Canada. My handbag happened to be chosen for a random check at Security. I stood there and watched as the woman searched my bag. I then stepped forward to repack it once she was done. And what came next was SUCH a pleasant surprise. She actually packed my bag for me, and then apologized profusely for the inconvenience she had caused me. I almost had to pinch myself to believe I was in North America. And then, after some deep reflection, I realized I had figured out part of the answer to the question I’ve always struggled with – how is Canada different from America? Well, for one, the Canadians are a MUCH more polite race of people.
The Americans are patronizing like no one else. I was just wrapping up a phone call with Citibank US recently; I thanked the customer service representative and was about to hang up when he went, “Okkk Ms Tarneha, I want you to go and enjoy the rest of your day nowww, okkkkkk”. I don’t really care what you want, but you know what, David, I’m going to enjoy the rest of my day now that you’ve so considerately asked me to. And then my friend was waiting to pay for our oh!! so!! decadent!! cheesecakes at Cheesecake Factory earlier this year when the waiter came back to her and said, “Hey, can you do something for me?” and she very innocently went, “Sure...?” before he said, “Take good care of yourself and go have a very nice day ok”. Ever wondered what she’d do if you hadn’t asked her to?
You can also count on the average American to verbalize what may seem very obvious to others – a bit like thinking out aloud constantly. “This one time” we were walking the streets of Venice when we overheard a woman saying, “I thaaght I hadn’t seen a dog all day yesterday, and now I’ve seen twooo todayyyy”. Great, so at least we won’t be going around spreading rumours that there are no dogs in Venice! Does it really matter? And then another woman seemed to have a sudden burst of realization. “Omygaad, I can’t believe I haven’t said ‘Bon giorno’ all day today!” Great, so that makes today no different from most of the rest of your life then. And that surprises you because...? This one’s really funny – I was on the phone with Citibank last night, requesting for a change in mailing address. “My new address is 42 Bridgette Court”. After many seconds of silence he asks, “Ms Tarneha, is there a number sign in front of the 42?” Sorry, I think I miss the point. Will my mail go to a non-number number 42 if you don’t put a number sign in front of it?
The Americans love to dramatize everything like it’s straight out of a Hollywood film. A friend of mine was waiting to pick his hand luggage on the other side of the security check carousel when five TSA officers and three sniffer dogs came charging at him from nowhere and asked him to step back and raise both his arms at once. “Sir, what’s in the book?”. “Erhmmm… pages?”. “Sir, that’s not the answer to my question. What’s in the book?” This wasn’t meant to be a trick question; it turned out that a second hand book he was carrying had an old fashioned razor blade hidden between the pages. Imagine anywhere other than a Hollywood film where such a dramatic scene could take place? The suspect is innocently waiting for his hand luggage while the agent behind the x-ray screen has identified a suspect item and surreptitiously summoned his colleagues within a matter of seconds; a full squad of dogs and officers come charging towards him as if it were Mr Bin Laden himself they have just managed to intercept. Similar thing happened with me once, during the period of my life when I was a “Selectee”, one of 15,000 people worldwide to be put on the American ‘SSSS’ or ‘Secondary Security Screening Selection’ list. So everytime I travelled to the US I was given special treatment – my boarding pass highlighted with a marker at check in, and my security queue a separate line away from the ordinary travellers. My handbag happened to be chosen for further search, and as I stepped forward to pack it after the officer seemed done, she alerted me, “M’am, I would stay where I am if I were you. Please DO. NOT. touch your handbag, or you will be very sorry.” Given her tone, I was now wondering if maybe I really had accidently packed some touch activated explosives?
New as of 2014 - On my last trip to the US few months ago, and after drinking worm infused tequila in Mexico the previous night, I was traveling to New Orleans for New Year’s eve when I had to be rushed to Emergency for a strange sort of acute pain. First came the uneasiness, then the acute pain in my chest and left arm, and then everything I had heard about a heartattack. I lay in the ICU bed, tubed and piped and oxygenated for several hours before I begged for food. “Sure m’am, I’ll be right back with your dinner” said the ER attendant and returned with a ‘brown paper bag’ – oh, how American! – when the nurse came charging towards me and snatched the bag with a “Ms Tarneha!! You’re a cardiac patient!! You CAN.NOT. eat anything until the doctor has cleared you of cardiac disease. Do you understand me?” Wow – really? Not even 35, and I was already a “cardiac patient”? The realization that dramatization invoked in me ensured I stayed still for the next few hours, trying hard to not even breathe hard, for fear that I might just be dying of a heartattack very soon.
The Americans who serve you have a sense of entitlement like no others. Ever tried not leaving a tip at a restaurant, or leaving less than a whopping 17.5%? I have. And I’ve been made to redress. I had just finished coffee with an ex colleague in Evanston when we asked to pay by card but were forced to shell out our last penny as the card machine wasn’t working. “Excuse me Sir? M’am? Did you mean not to leave a tip?” our waiter came following us outside. No, we didn’t, and we would’ve if your card machine wasn’t not working, you know? And then another time a cab driver followed me to ask for more than the $4 I had just tipped him for a $30 cab ride. Embarrassed, I pulled out another couple of dollar bills and gave them to him before I realized, several weeks later, that in my embarrassment I had actually shelled out a $100 bill. They’re all the exact same size, ever notice that? There, your generous tip, Mr I’m-entitled-to-a-hefty-tip-just-because-I’m-American!
I could go on and on, but I think I’ve made my point. So, to the people I have offended and not been able to strike a chord with, thank you for reading. To the people I did strike a chord with, I would love to hear your stories. In the meantime, I’m excited to be an “alien” once again for the next 10 days.
Anyway, gotta fly now. Later, gator!
Wait, did I just hear you say, “After a while, crocodile”?!
