The Dick van Dyke thing
When I meet an American, s/he usually asks me where I'm from, which is a perfectly sensible question. To which I give what I hope is a perfectly sensible reply, which is "London".
Because I'm not a complete social retard, I then ask the same question of my interlocutor. Who, more often than not, says something along the lines of: "I'm from the States."
Well, I mean, duh? It's just possible that he's clarifying that he's not Canadian, I suppose. But do Americans not realise that, as soon as they open their expensively realigned mouths, they are announcing their Americanness? We get that bit - where in America? New York? LA? Or somewhere in the flyover states, somewhere that only really impinges our attention when there's a high-school massacre?
Last year, in Cambodia, I met a nice American couple.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"We're from the States."
"Riiight... Whereabouts in the States?"
"A city called Minneapolis."
"Oh, OK."
"Gee, you mean you've heard of it?"
And rather than saying that I come from London, should I be announcing that I come from England, as if every atom of my being, from my accent to my pasty skin, from my yellow-grey teeth to my fondness for sarcasm, doesn't scream that fact out loud?
PS: Serendipitously, this turns up in my inbox, courtesy of the ever-delicious Very Short List. I like the Scottish one best.




