On American |
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 I have always felt that it would be easier to understand the
American populace as a nation were it not for the fact that we loosely share a
common language. I extend this statement to our antipodean friends as well. Woe
betides the unwary traveller who has the temerity to ask a barman for a fag.
The result will be alarming in the extreme. Aside from the very obvious faucet,
sidewalk, elevator type differences there are a number that have caught me out
in the past.A conversion with a barmaid in Lancaster, Pennsylvania commenced when I took my jacket off, revealing, for want of not using the word just yet, an alternative to the belt for keeping ones trousers at a respectable level. The design was brash, verging on the garish and this no doubt prompted her observation, "Nice suspenders". I looked down at her thighs in expectation before realising the language-induced confusion. "How curious," I retorted, "in my country these are called braces." "Really," she reposted and smiled, revealing a glinting array of metal ware in her mouth, " in my country these are braces." I once had the dubious pleasure of travelling to America with my wife and an infant of the suckling age. At some point a vital piece of comfort equipment went astray and I was called upon to go to a pharmacy to replace it. My question as to whether or not they had any dummies was met with the reply, "We have any number on the payroll. Anyone in particular you wish to see?" I then established that the term "pacifier" should have been applied and returned grateful for the pacification and enlightenment. |
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