Fish out of water
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s meeting an American
abroad who pretends to be from Canada.
First of all, the only reason this is so prevalent is
because it’s a cross-cultural joke that some Americans have taken literally, absorbing
it through TV, movies, some travel blog or who knows what. The sad fact is that Americans, for the most
part, don’t travel. So when some silver
spoon fuckhead posts on his blog about how he lost his 0 pen in Peru because
a small tribe of sand miners pegged him as an American and robbed one of his
porters, thousands of online thigh-cutters take it to heart and spread the word
around to their thigh-cutter friends on and off line. The only people who advise me to pose as a
Canadian are the ones who haven’t ever ventured more than 300 miles from their
childhood homes. Well, except for that
honeymoon in Vegas, but that was a package deal for the weekend and they never
left the casino.
The average intelligent person understands and believes
that, at worst, Americans are apathetic, overfed yet affable individuals and
the “evil” elements associated with America are the doings of an
oligarchy. Part of the problem with the
skittish American traveler is that we, the Americans, don’t realize that
fact. We have gas in our SUV’s, food in
our bellies and 0,000 townhouses which contain electronics, toys and
uncomfortable 00 couch sets from which we watch our a month digital
cable, all of the above thanks to seven platinum mastercards, most of which are
carrying ,000, but that’s okay, let’s have a baby now.
We love our corporations and, from the cherry-filled center
of luxury, we have no reason to think that anything’s wrong. When traveling, we must realize that there is
a problem and, more importantly, five and a half billion people think so.
Here’s what they don’t quite grasp, though: The oligarchy is
not, necessarily, elected. It’s the
corporate monstrosities, created by the very elements of freedom of which many
of the critics may well be envious. This
is not a point that should be argued because we are Human beings and insisting
that your wife is more attractive is a great way to start a decade-long global
conflict. As the corporations spread
their three-fingered, alien hands across the globe, though, it is becoming
clear to many that the “evils” of the American oligarchy are not under the
control of the American people. The only
fault of the individual American is the fact that, under the mantle of absolute
luxury, there’s no desire to take action.
For many, the hatred of the American traveler is shifting to pity. The worse our corporations become (indeed,
we’ve even begun to notice in recent years), the easier life gets for the
American abroad.
Remember – foreigners are just like you. They know that some people are ignorant
fuckheads, but not all people. You
will not be attacked, targeted, shot or raped just because you’re an
American. Those things can happen to any
traveler.
That said, don’t wear shit with the US flag on it. Stop with the flag waving, please. Nobody else in the world, with the exception
of the Nazis, worship their flag as much as we do. Having the flag all over your clothes immediately
makes you a fruitcake. Our laughable
addiction to flag waving is mocked the world over. Oh, and, only an American would wave a
Canadian flag in an attempt to avoid imaginary dangers.
Here’s something else to wrap your head around – Canadians
have a distinct accent. Everybody who
speaks the English language knows this.
You do not sound like a Canadian.
A Canadian can pick an American accent out of a crowd; the lazy,
slurred, broken speech full of half sentences, pseudo-slang and idioms is
blindingly American. We have a certain
way that we communicate which is, increasingly, difficult for other English
speakers to grasp. Thank god for
American TV being broadcast to the rest of the world, otherwise we’d be truly
in the realm of moon-speak.
You are an American as soon as you open your mouth. Nor can you sound Canadian since, obviously,
judging from the huge flag on your back, you’re not aware of the difference.
So, most importantly:
They Know.
Let’s assume the low class thief in Slovenia
doesn’t know, though. He sees the flag
and thinks, hmm, Canadian. Okay. Here’s another thing for you to remember: Canadians, also, are well off and
materialistic. They, also, are viable
targets for thieves.
In the social setting, the Canadian always takes the fall for
America
and is put on the spot. Why? Because people think they’re Americans
putting on an elaborate act.
So: Canadian =
American.
When is it okay to play this game? When you’re in a Third
World shithole. When you’re
in some rundown, sad place, you don’t want to be as open and carefree about
your nationality. Of course, in those
places, you don’t want to be open and carefree about anything. That’s the nature of that sort of
travel. But I’ve found, when asked, to
let them figure it out. For example:
Unwashed Native at Market in Filthy Horrible Country: Are you English?
You: Sure!
Sometimes it’s a test but, generally speaking, the poor and unwashed have difficulty with
non-traditional American accents. They
know the southern-fried retards they see on TV, but that clipped northern
accent, or the amorphous Mid-Atlantic accent, can confuse the non-English
speaking, un-traveled foreigner. I’ve
noted that the Mid-Atlantic “accent” is somewhat chameleonic, taking on the
tone and pitch of the surrounding accents.
A few weeks overseas and, subconsciously, your voice has shifted to
something a little off. They’ll still
rat you out in English-friendly Europe, but
you might throw them in other places. It
becomes not quite anything and, if you’re quiet, it’s hard to get you.
I Didn’t Vote For Him!
Once the American traveler has been discovered, there may be
some rough spots. The most common
question since 2001 is a variation of the following: “So. Bush?”
The first reaction of the American traveler (given that 90%
of the small number of Americans who leave the country are educated and urban)
is: “I didn’t vote for him!”
This is, in the end, an acceptable excuse. However, it should not be shrilly cried out
like you’re a guilty child. Whether or
not you voted for him, the state of American politics is so fucked up it’s not
even funny anymore, and everyone you meet knows this. They’re thinking: No, Really, What The Fuck
Is Going On?
Prepare yourself. The
plan should be as follows: Lightly
discuss politics in America,
like textbook explanation stuff. How it
works, what happens, and how and why American society is so divided. Be ready to explain things like the Electoral
College and why people in the countryside are inbred motherfuckers but,
historically, ha-ha-ha, right?
Do not get fevered and animated. Do not speak against Bush, unless pressed
into it actively. Do not go into detail,
do not dominate the conversation. After
your brief defensive stance, extricate yourself with a polite and less
childlike version of “I didn’t vote for him.”
This can be done simply by saying it’s “too exhausting to talk about”
or, my favorite, “I’m here to escape it for a little bit and enjoy a more
enlightened culture.”
For the most part, the common person understands that you,
too, are a common person and the fucks in charge are scary sister-rapers. In fact, if you find yourself under serious attack
in a social situation, bone up on the fucking evil shit that their leaders are
doing. Take a second to scan the
papers.
Once, I was in a bit of a rough situation at a London pub, which
escalated, despite my attempts to remove myself based on the above plan,
towards something more violent. What
stopped this potential disaster? Hey,
let’s talk about Tony Blair being in the Coalition of the Willing. I Mean, Really, What The Fuck Is Going On There?
Eh?
This led to something similar to “Well, I didn’t vote for
him,” and, suddenly, a shocked silence.
Later that evening, the bastard was buying me drinks and crying into his
beer about the state of politics in the UK.
But how rare that is.
One incident of true anti-American anger using me as a potential outlet
out of hundreds of polite and, often, friendly “what the fuck?” conversations.
So, Where Are You From?
You’re from “The States.”
“America”
has become a bit more acceptable, but you show some class if you say the
States. It gives the appearance of being
more traveled as well as being secure in your origin. I always say where, exactly, I’m from, and
it’s a terrible habit. Don’t name the State
or the city.
You: I’m from Iowa!
Foreign scum: *blank
stare during difficult recall of the map*
That’s like me telling you what county in Maryland I’m from in response to being asked
what State I’m in. It’s not
important. But, most of the time, they’ll
follow up with a question because they know that America is big and crazy and there
are 500 different regions, all of which have very pretty things in them.
My friend is from New
Mexico. He
always gets to talk about the desert, and even gets the old Grand Canyon
question, even though it’s 206,700 miles away from his house. Another friend from New
York fields long conversations about NYC and Niagara Falls. I live outside DC, so I get shot three times
in the stomach and robbed. Both on my
way to work outside Union Station and during conversations at Romanian bars.
I Am
Scottish-American
And I am. But, here’s
the thing, my family has been in America for one million and three
years. I’m American. I don’t have any ties to anywhere else. I would not recognize, nor would enjoy Scotland
as der Fatherland. It took a long time,
and lots of travel, for me to reach this conclusion.
Everyone mocks Americans for our desperate need to find
cultural identity. “We’re from Ireland!” or “I’m 1/16th American
Indian.” More often than not, when
people learn that I’m American, they joke about whether or not I’m
Whatever-American before they argue about Bush.
You are American.
Just American. Oh, and, I don’t
care if your family came over in the 1930’s.
That was a long motherfucking time ago. If you’re some rattly old man
who was there, okay. If you’re 20, fuck
you. You are an unhyphenated
American. The moment you identify
yourself with some Irish émigré who went to California in 1854, the person you are
talking to has moved you to the idiot category and wants to get away from you.
This, to go on a bit of a tangent, is a major social issue
in this country when we apply the term “African-American.” We’ve become so content with the ridiculous
hyphenated-American idea, that we think it’s okay to call blacks
African-Americans. In my book, it’s a
well disguised way to call them niggers.
It’s the ultimate, inhuman categorization of a people. Blacks and Indians and Asians get stuck with
that shit. Those who are “non-white” and
traditional opponents. Niggers, redskins
and yellows. We don’t even do it with
the spanish. We haven’t fought with
them, socially or militarily, in over a century. We don’t call them
Hispanic-Americans. Someone whose family
is from Guatemala
who’s second generation American is just that – American. Maybe you’d say Latino or Hispanic. You’d say it in the same way as you’d say
white. See what I mean? Listen to how people use the terms. Watch
their faces as they speak.
In terms of labels, even if used with a pure heart and naive
innocence, African-American is a crude generalization. All black Americans are assumed to be African
therefore all black Americans are slave families. When you categorize a slave class, you
promote the continuation of that in modern society.
Black people from this country are, wait for it,
Americans. No hyphen. Just like you. You have no ties to that émigré in 1854. When abroad, you are just an American and
nobody, anywhere, cares about where your family originated. In fact, they’re laughing at you. Shut up about that shit and get a grip. Or, if you must be like that, drop the
hyphenated American routine and just start punching people in the jaw, because
that’s the level of pain you cause when you talk about your immigrant family
that arrived in Detroit in 1249 BC and fought for George Washington and now you’ve
come back to visit your roots.
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