Over the years, I have noticed some expectations others have of me once they learn that I am British. They don’t always conform to what British people think is their reputation.
One thing I find consistently funny is about taking tea with milk. Actually, I do take tea with milk, though I am happy to go without. But somehow whenever I order tea from someone who knows I am British, they make a point about the milk.
I wonder how this particular reputation became so strong. Once I developed a theory. Perhaps there is a standard textbook for learning English, used in many countries. Perhaps, in a very early chapter, a British person orders tea, and asks for milk in it. Perhaps the textbook makes some general remark about Brits preferring tea with milk.
I suppose it is possible. There has to be something powerful to have created this reputation. I can almost guarantee a knowing smile and short conversation, anywhere in the world. Probably that is how the French got the reputation for striped shirts, garlic and bicycles.
More recently, people like John Cleese or Ricky Gervais have a lot to answer for. Another thing Brits are known for is a dark humour, cleverness or wit. At least this one is positive. Luckily I fit the stereotype again, or at least I think I do.
In my experience, the people typically having the most wit are the Irish. Many times I have been in Irish company, from all walks of life, and been astonished at the pace and ingenuity of the wit, of almost everyone. I wonder where that comes from. They certainly have a very social culture, which must help.
Other British things are bad (or at least careless) dress sense and bad food – despite the plethora of British chefs (many of whom I can confirm are picking up good royalties from US TV). Once again, as a lazy dresser and hopeless cook, I can count myself typical.
Maybe the most common impression of the Brits is about our reserve. We are seen as formal, snobbish, awkward in discussing emotions, and to use language to avoid plain speaking. We are also sometimes suspected of deviousness.
The deviousness completely contradicts the self-image of the Brits, who talk a lot of the British sense of fair play. I must admit that I am with the foreigners on this one, and have often been embarrassed by British sportspeople and politicians.
I just finished a great book, Jerusalem by Simon Sebag Montefiore. It is a history of that city, and the overwhelming impression is embarrassment for the human race. Before reading this I thought the bible story of Salome putting John the Baptist’s head on a plate was either false or extreme. Now I learn that this has been the norm for human behaviour, for three thousand years and pretty well up to the present. No wonder the politics there is so fraught.
The British come out no better than anyone else. British efforts in Jerusalem have been devious and naïve. Being an island and relatively ethnically homogenous group, I think Brits underestimate the historical complexity of other lands – that would also explain some of the British history in Ireland. But Brits also seem to listen badly, to believe in their superiority, and to be willing to cheat to impose their ideas. The empire might have a lot to do with that. At least the French come out even worse! To be fair, no-one comes out very well.
On this group of traits, I find I am often accused of being counter to the stereotype, though I recently learned that I am seen as formal and uptight on first impression. But I do speak my mind plainly, and that often surprised my European colleagues in Shell. “Very Dutch for a Brit” was something I heard many times – and took as a compliment.
Which brings me to the last trait, the inspiration for this blog in the first place. Queuing. Or as the Americans term it, standing in line.
I’ve never really discerned much difference in national attitudes to queuing. No-one likes it very much, why should they? Perhaps the Southern races queue with less discipline than the protestant North. That would be consistent with other parts of their character. But I don’t see the British as particularly attracted to queues, as the folklore seems to imply.
I can claim some new expertise though. My own attitude to queues has been tested to its limits in New York. Wow, I have spent more time in line here than ever in my life. I think it is just due to the scale of the place, combined with the normal chores of starting out in a country. Wow, it starts at the immigration lines at the airports.
Being on the roads involves some amazing queues. I am generally impressed with how things move here, and take my hat off to the traffic planners. Under huge pressure, they have really put effort into details like the phasing of traffic lights, and it pays off. But the system is still fragile, and if there is an accident or bad weather or some other disruption, the consequences are predictably huge. Hence the queues.
Then there is anything popular. In our first weeks we discovered free summer concerts in Central Park. What we didn’t realise was that everyone else discovered them as well, leading to crazy queues, and most of us ending up listening from the park outside rather than inside the venue. It was still fun, despite the well-known disrespect of New Yorkers – chatting loudly the whole time. We have also discovered a van that comes to Forest Hills on a Sunday to sell Belgian waffles. But so has the rest of Forest Hills. The lines are as legendary as the waffles.
Sometimes it is just the distances. Coney Island on the subway is a direct train for us, at an amazing price of $2,25. The only problem – it is forty stops! Can you recall a time you sat on any train while it stopped forty times? Maybe it is not a queue, but by the end it sure feels like one. (By the way, there was nothing there once we made it).
We hired a car for one day. Shame we chose Labor day weekend. Budget, in their wisdom, seems to have forgotten that fact, even though their computers probably told them they had a lot of orders, just like always on a holiday. We stood in line in the sun for an hour and three quarters. Many people in the line had things like weddings to get to, and I was impressed that there was no riot, and the staff were brilliant – perhaps that is why there was no riot.
The Budget experience gave another hint about American lines. Occasionally some posh bastard would show up and jump the queue, on the flimsy grounds that they had paid a bit more or had a loyalty card. New York has many lines, but I suspect some people spend more time in lines than others.
Which brings me to the Department of Motor Vehicles. So far I have made three visits. You queue (out of the door, almost into the elevator) for an initial assessment, which qualifies you (perhaps) to join a range of other queues. Many of the staff seem to have role models in the military. I think I will have to visit three more times to be become a fully qualified driver in the USA, despite my almost unblemished and lengthy international driving record. I now psyche myself up, forcing myself into a good and fatalistic mood before entering. Wow, you see a lot of angry, almost desperate people at the DMV.
Add in the experience that Time Warner Cable needed me to stay at home four whole days to succeed in giving us TV and internet (how do people cope with that if they have jobs?), and you get a picture of someone getting used to lines.
Actually, I think I am rare good Brit in this respect, as I am quite good in a line. I am usually patient, happy in my own company, and generally remember to bring a book or newspaper. And I enjoy observing the people. In New York, someone will always cause a scene, New Yorkers are rarely shy and retiring sorts. So perhaps, after all, there is something about the Brits and queues, our reputation might be justified.
Now, can I spend less of the next ten weeks in lines please?
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