The wait is over! Everyone can breathe a MASSIVE sigh of relief, because a wonderful company decided to take a chance on an inexperienced foreigner (hooray for outsourcing!...or something). I had my first day of WORK today, and so far so good! The people are nice, the building is colorful, and the work is plentiful and engaging, what more can anyone ask for? Well...millions of dollars and 10 weeks of paid vacation wouldn't go unappreciated but I fear I would be hedging my bets if I fought for it at this stage.
Anywhooo, this newfound influx of human interaction (several conversations with people who AREN'T Jamie?? Surely, you're joking) has got me thinking about what it is like to be a stranger in a strange land. After all, chronicling my experiences in this foreign land was the impetus for this blog. In short, Australia is wonderful. While it can be very difficult and isolating at times and I have found myself much more homesick at times than i expected, I am so constantly grateful for this INCREDIBLE opportunity to experience a life entirely different from anything I have known. And the Australian people, despite their strange haircuts and penchant for male hotpants, could not be more wonderful. Jamie's friends and family are obviously glorious, but it is the kindness of strangers that I am constantly amazed by. "How ya going?"s from strangers on my walks, the random dogwalker who, seeing me standing dumbfounded by the side of the road, asked if I was lost and guided me where I needed to go, and the kind woman at the convenience store across the street who never fails to ask how my day was.
Being American in Australia is mostly a ton of fun. I, like many, love talking about myself, and a different nationality is a great conversation starter which involves strangers asking me many things about my favorite topic, me. However, sometimes being different becomes tiresome, especially when confronted by and of three types of people. I have named them the Interrogators, the Translators, and the Skeptics.
Interrogators, upon learning of my differing nationality, proceed to ask a series of bizarre and/or difficult questions about my country of origin. They may start innocuously enough, but eventually I will have to concede that should the President, the Vice President and Speaker of the House all become incapacitated, I actually don't know who would become President of the United States (yes I do, its called an EXAMPLE, people), or that I actually have not the foggiest idea where Kansas is (I really don't). I am constantly shocked by how much Australians know about esoteric American practices and very thankful for my political science degree, which allows me to fend off the majority of the questions. What is truly bad about the Interrogator however, is that he/she is not asking to gain information. They are asking solely to prove that you don't know something about your native land, and they do, and they will rub your nose in it FOREVER. I was in a cab recently with a driver who was so convinced that Donald Trump was running for President of the United States in 2012 that, even though I vigorously protested it, I actually went home and googled it, just to be sure.
Translators are a different breed altogether. Instead of trying to trip you up, they are trying to help you, but in such an obnoxious way that you almost wish they were attempting to convince you that George Bush killed Osama bin Laden by punching him in the face. Translators insist that there is no way that you could possibly span the massive gulf between Australian and American English and insist on helping you through everything. This has the double effect of making every sentence twice as long and twice as exasperating. A typical sentence from a translator might sound like this "Yes, Ellen, well I was just getting ready to get some groceries from Coles -hmm what would that be for you...Safeway?- when my mate -sorry, I mean my friend- rang -oops called me to tell me he was bringing over fish and chip -oh God, do you have fish and chips in America???? well, its like if a hamburger was made out of a fish but didn't have a bun and......" and so on and so on until I am fighting to keep my frozen smile plastered to my face, nodding along dutifully as they explain that a kangaroo is like a deer that hops around and carries its fawn in its stomach.
But of all the scourges of my immigrant lifestyle, none are more abhorrent to me than the Skeptics. Skeptics, like the Translators, are fascinated by the differences between Americans and Australians, and concern themselves primarily with lingual disparities, though their interest comes from a much darker place. Pahhhsta? Errrrrbs?? Proooooduce???? Aaaaadvertizzzzments?????? Accents provide endless comedic fodder for the skeptics and they simply cannot grasp the concept that two people speaking the same language can say words so very differently. Being in proximity to a Skeptic is a bit like living with a small, mean-spirited echo, and often causes my eyes to get stuck in the "rolled" position.
But all in all, Skeptics, Translators and Interrogators are a vast minority here in Australia and the majority of the people are kind and friendly, and as long as they keep asking me about me, I don't forsee any problems.
And finally, I want to thank everyone for reading (or just Dan Kinney 695 times...)! I'm fueled mostly by intense narcissism and watching the view count rise definitely gives me the warm fuzzies, so thanks everyone!
just finished catching up...good on ya!!!!!!!!
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