Oh, This Wacky Island!
Let's Get British and Smoke Some Fags! - 5.13.04
Anne
Anyone that has known me for longer than five seconds can probably tell you that, yes, I am one of those really annoying Americans that uses British words all the time. This practice began sometime shortly after leaving the womb and has only gotten worse after five months on the other side of the Atlantic. I admit it. I'm a linguistic magpie. Well no, actually. I'm just a magpie. Not only do I pick up on cultural traits, slang, and humor (British: humour) from other places, but I also really like shiny objects. But that's neither here nor there. What's really interesting (at least to me) is how one object can have vastly different names and how the differences came into being. And also, why there are so many different terms for sex. I mean really!
Of course, there are terms and words that anyone who grew up watching British comedies (in my case, Monty Python's Flying Circus and Are You Being Served?) will know. A cooker is a stove. The boot of the car is the trunk. A jumper is a sweater, and not clothes a toddler would wear. The list goes on and on. None of them are terribly exciting. The hilarity only begins to ensue when we enter the world of misunderstanding, or as I like to call it: Say What?
Let's look at some examples, shall we?
Simon says: "I'm going to go outside and smoke some fags."
Of course, in America, you'd never get away with something like that; you'd probably get shouted out for the mere suggestion. However, in Britain, you'd be fine, and you'd go on a cigarette break. You might get shouted out for second hand smoke, but I doubt anyone would raise a fuss.
And you can imagine the confusion Simon would face if he went into a shop and asked for suspenders for his pants. Why? Because if Simon were in America, he would just be asking for an accessory to hold up his britches without a belt. However, if he were in Britain, he would be asking for a ladies garter belt to wear with his underwear. Crazy—but true!
And we won't even go into those things that tourists at Disney strap to their waists when they're walking around. No, go ask your mother.
Personally, one of the most confusing things for me was trying to figure out at what time things were taking place. Not only are schedules printed in 24 hour time (i.e. 2 pm is actually 14:00), which was unsettlingly Orwellian to me, but there's the added dilemma of things happening at half-past the hour.
"When's choir?" I would ask.
"It's at half seven."
"Okay," I would say, and secretly be thinking: Half seven? Is that... half an hour before seven? Or is it half an hour after seven? I knew yesterday! AHHH!
It's 7:30, by the way. It took me about two months to figure it out, but I finally drilled it into my head, and yet even now I get slightly confused. Not that me getting confused is anything unusual. Yes, I am a clever girl.
As it is, I'm slowly acquiring more and more Briticisms in my vocabulary. That means, if you thought I was a pretentious twat before when I used the adjective "knackered" after I've had a tough day, then you will probably want to smack me senseless when I get home, lace up my trainers, pull on my jumper and ask you if you want a brew. I mean a cup of tea, of course. This is England, after all.
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