Born Identity...

So, I am trying to figure out just what exactly is the reputation of America. Or rather—what is it that people think when they encounter an American?

I have had some strange experiences in this regard. I think primarily it is because people are finding an American in their midst but not in the usual tourist-y places. They are finding an American in the grocery store, in the cinema, at the mall, or small pubs in small towns where foreigners don’t often travel.

Case in point. I was in Sainsbury’s, which is a large super market player like Albertsons/Jewel. In line at the register, the girl there asked if I needed help bagging my groceries. I replied, “No thanks, I got it.”

A woman behind me then taps me on the shoulder asking, “Excuse me, but are you an American?” Bracing myself for whatever could come next, I said yes. She said, “hey that’s really cool,” which was totally not what I was expecting. I said, “Really? Thanks, we don’t get much of that.” By this time I had bagged my stuff and she was waiting with her things, so there wasn’t much follow-up.

Another incident involved several drunken youths at a local pub. Whilst the event did something to bolster my ego, it is still perplexing. I went to have a couple of beers with a friend of mine. In the UK, the young studs like to go out en masse to the pubs, get fairly hammered, and then try to go out to clubs to meet women. So if you go out during the early-drinking-stage, you are likely to see one of these groups. I did. They were all drinking Bud, which I find ironic. Anyway, one of them drops a Bud on the floor. My friend says, “It’s a shame to see beer go to waste like that, even if it’s Bud.” I agreed, we chuckled and continued drinking our pints.

Well…one the boys comes over to me and says “Do you think we’re cheap, mate?”
I say, “what?”
“My friend says you think we’re cheap, because we drink Bud.”
“Nope.”
“Well, I think you did.”

At this point the reader should observe two things. First, my friend, who is English, is the only one of us they heard speak. Second, my replies have all been one word, hard to distinguish my origins. Here’s what happened next.

I stood up and said, “Well, I’m not sure what you heard, man. But we weren’t talking to you. Perhaps your friend shouldn’t listen in on other people. He misunderstood us, and now it’s causing a problem.”

The front boy says, “Wait. Are you from America?”
“Yeah.”


Pause.
“Listen, our friend is kind of drunk. Don’t worry about what he says. We were going anyway. Cheers.”

I am stunned by this. If I did not have a friend there with me to witness it all, I would have thought I imagined it. I have no idea why they left, or why my being an American had anything to do with it. But, somehow it did. Did they think I had a gun? Apparently we all do in the States, we are all gangsters and cowboys.

What must they all think of us?
--tomb