Rules of Engagement

This week was an interesting one at work; we had a three day training led by some of our American colleagues over from our Texas offices.  So, woah, total collision of cultures.  Ironically, I was supposed to take my life in the UK test to qualify for my Indefinite Leave to Remain status (Or; if you’re American: green card), but had to cancel it.  (Of course, I had already had to cancel it once as I foolishly scheduled it for a Saturday morning after a work event with open bar.) 

Tsk, tsk.  

Really, I should have known that while, taking the test with a raging hangover would most definitely make me qualified to live in the UK, the official view remains that I have to know what percentage of the population of the UK is black-asian and what year women got the vote.  These are facts that one cannot just wing (or; if you’re British, “blag.”  See, why do I need that test anyway?).   But, I digress.

So, here I am in an audience of all Brits and me, watching some VERY American style corporate training.  I am not even sure I can put it into words, but, let’s just say that all those Brits now know what the phrase “drink the Kool-Aid means.”

And, no, they didn’t know what it meant or what Kool-Aid was before.  I guess it is just Americans who add artificial colors, flavors and chemicals to sugar to make a powder that we add to water to feed to children.  Actually, come to think of it, my old Aussie flatmate (wait, read that as old flatmate who was an Aussie not some Australian geriatric lady that I live with.  That would just be creepy.) But, anyway, she pointed out, while I was unpacking all the groceries I had brought back from Texas (read: smuggled past customs) it was all powdered food.  Yes, I liked my Crystal Light, Good Seasons’ zesty Italian dressing, cream gravy, ranch dip packets of goodness.  But, sadly once I realized what I was actually putting in my body, the idea of a bunch of powdered chemicals seemed a bit weird as I wasn’t actually combating gravity or facing a lack of storage space to carry actual food.  No, sadly I am not an astronaut.  Turns out, the wonders of Tang-like products are actually unnecessary.

In any event, the Brits were pretty horrified by the gung-ho, pep- rally, “how great is our job!  Our company! Our training!” training.  And, yes, I was equally jaded (note that is American jaded, not British jaded, which is, yes, shock, surprise, another word for hungover).  My own skepticism, carefully cultivated from 5 years of living in London, made me equally disillusioned. 

But, sure enough, after three full days of indoctrination, even the Brits were drinking the Kool-aid.  And, when we all got to present our final presentation, everyone embraced the humorous side, dressing in costume, singing, and being generally silly.  Pretty much the way that they would all look after 12 pints of beer.   Victory for the Americans, right?

Well, not so much. 

Because, sure enough, some dude thought he really was down at the pub after 12 pints and started telling jokes. 

About the trainers’ premature ejaculation and whore houses. 

Cue American shock and horror.  And, suddenly I am right back there waving the flag for the Americans.  Um, hello?  NOT appropriate.

So, maybe this whole British conservatism isn’t such a bad thing. Kinda reminds me of that old Eddie Murphy joke about the quiet women being the most dangerous.  You know, because all women have skeletons in the closet and the women who are quiet are only keeping their mouth shout because they are afraid a bone is going to come flying out!  I mean, think about it.  A sex scandal in the States is an extramarital affair.  A sex scandal in the UK is a member of parliament dressed in a Nazi uniform with hookers.

I think we must just have very different rules of engagement.  We Americans like to treat our jobs like they are vocations, a marriage of values and a paycheck. 

And, the Brits?  Well, let me point out that Friday is called Poet’s Day.  Which, stands for Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday. 

Rumor has it, a VERY senior person at my company has started pulling security logs on Fridays to see who actually shows up at work.  (Let’s hope he doesn’t pull the times or I am screwed.  I am notoriously late on a Friday.  Well, actually, every day.  On Fridays it is just less noticeable, particularly as I am wont to sneak in at lunchtime as if I had just popped out for a sandwich!)

We Americans get two weeks’ vacation a year.  The Brits?  Well, 4 weeks is considered a “bad benefits package.”  Luckily for me, I have 5 ½.   And, as I am a slave to my travel addiction, that is perfect for me.

Unfortunately, the downside of all this is that salaries don’t rival the US.  So, while I have all this vacation time, I don’t really have the cash to use it.   But, I am American.  I have credit.

And as any one who knows me will point out, I live like Mastercard is my paycheck.  So, the fun continues – next stop, Morocco.  Suitably attired in Jimmy Choos, natch.

Some day it is going to catch up to me (read: the credit limit is exhausted), and as my dad is fond of saying, I will have to pick up my toys and go in.  But, until then, I am going to be a skeptical, pint-swilling, vacation taking, credit card living, non-offensive joke telling, Texan-Britishy person. 

I am a Texish person.  And, those are my rules of engagement.

A Bright Smile

 We all know the joke about the English and their teeth, American and Brit alike.  And, we all know that the Americans are famed for shiny hair, white straight teeth and glowing skin.  One would think that we would all have the same idea of what is beautiful.  But, that is clearly not the case.  Read any British author and he or she will describe the most beautiful character as being fair of face, clear skin, bright eyes.

Um, hello, we Americans just call that plain.  Even our word for plain, “homely” is actually a compliment in the UK.  Apparently it means comforting and homey – I think it is no accident that plainness is actually a good thing.    You know, wearing any makeup or jewelry that is anything but understated is considered “flash.” I have even been called “glamorous” on multiple occasions, and, those of y’all who know me (or have seen a certain Halloween photo of me decked out as what can only be described as a booze fairy, sagging wings, cigarette hanging out my mouth, eyes half-closed, head lolling and long neck beer in hand), can attest to the fact that glam I ain’t! And, BTW, whichever of my dear friends (and you know who you are) does still have that photo, I hope it isn’t still on your fridge as a caution to overindulgence.)  But, I digress.

So, yes, folks the rumor is true.  British teeth are appalling.  And, much as I have to justify the American lack of travel as a direct result of lack of vacation days (I mean, c’mon, where can you REALLY go in a week that requires a passport?  Well, OK, now that you need a passport for Canada, Mexico and the Carib, now everywhere, but, to be fair, that is a very new requirement)  Note to self: get a new argument), so anyway, in that same vein, British teeth are that bad  a direct result of lack of dental insurance.  It doesn’t come with the job.  And, as for the argument that there are free dentists on the national healthcare?  Well, let’s just say it would be easier to find an ACLU membership card at a Tea Party rally.  Ain’t gonna happen.

And, the thing of it is, no one cares.  I actually mentioned to a guy in response to a question as to whether a certain acquaintance of mine was attractive that he would be if it weren’t for his teeth.  And, my friend, replied, so? 

And, then I started taking a closer look at the people considered attractive  (and, let’s just clarify right now that we’re not talking Essex/Jordan wanna-be/chavvy girls—for those of you confused, imagine if the Jersey Shore chicks were considered “glam”.)

Wait.  They said I was glam. 

Shit. Maybe that coca-cola can red hair wasn’t such a good call.

(To be fair, I DID ask to be a red-head.  Who knew that was called ginger here??  OK, so maybe after 5 years, I should have, but whatever, I still use pants inappropriately all the time.)

 The WORD, people, the WORD.  I don’t actually misuse underwear.

In any event, I soon came to the conclusion that appearances just don’t matter here.  And, while I was busy looking down my nose at those who were merely “fair” and sanctimoniously loving my shiny hair and good teeth, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t such a bad thing,  After all, I had left Dallas, a city famed for its boob jobs, fake tans, anorexic bleached blondes for a reason.  Because, while I have clear skin and bright eyes, a size two Kardashian/Britney Ms. Dallas I ain’t.  

So, I am now thinking I have done quite well, I have moved to a place where I am right up there on the attractive scale, right?

Wrong.   Because sarcasm and humor and cleverness are held in high regard here.  Note that I said cleverness, and not smartness, which is not just because smartness refers to how you are attired and not your intelligence, but because it is isn’t enough to be intelligent.  You must be able to engage in banter, silly repartee, dry humor, deadpan timing.   And, nothing is more indicative of that then the fact most people still get their news here from the radio and the newspapers  --  where it doesn’t matter what you look like so long as you are articulate or well written. 

I, myself, listen to Radio 4 in the morning – a show of outspoken, acerbic, challenging and “clever” broadcasters who discuss only the most important subjects of politics, international issues and culture.  Yes, folks, I feel quite superior when I tell people I listen to Radio 4.  Pretty much how I would feel telling people back in Dallas that I was Homecoming Queen.  (Except of course that I wasn’t.  But, you know, whatever.)

I find an even better example than Radio 4 is listening to a session of parliament, where the members verbally joust, openly challenging, cat-calling, boo-ing, the likes of which you would never hear in Congress.  I think there is more crowd interaction there than at a Jets/Giants game.  (And, trust me, I have seen those people.  It ain’t pretty.  Let’s just say, even I learned some new obscenities and I grew up on an Army base.) 

The presenters on Radio 4 do the same thing – openly, almost hostilely challenging the speakers.  I actually heard a 20 minute diatribe last week against the police for publishing crime statistics.  Yes, clearly, I can see why it is a bad idea to let people know about crime.  WHAT? 

Seriously, you could be Mother Teresa on that show and they would say, in a very posh accusatory tone, “Isn’t it true, that YOU help the poor?  That, YOU, YOU, who claims to be a woman of God, have made us all look selfish and indulgent by YOUR behavior?  What have you got to say about, that, hmm?"  And, they get away with it.  And, why is that? 

Because they seem clever.    

So, in hindsight, maybe appearances do matter.  Not so much a bright smile, as a bright smile. 

Either way, I am brushing my teeth and reading the paper from now on.