“Come in.”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Come in…”
“It’s the police! Is there a David Robbins in there?” says the voice behind the door.
Doesn’t this just sound like a prefect way to start the experience?
“Can I help you?”
“Are you David?”
“Yes.”
“We have a message for you,” the officer says as he pulls out a note.
“A parcel from British Airways has been delivered to the University Police Station, to be delivered to you. You may pick it up any time, our doors are open to students 24 hours a day!”
The last time the police delivered a message to me was “Hi. Your neighbor called 911 about your dogs barking. I can’t hear them, so you don’t have to do anything… but I was required to let you know. Have a good night.”
This was on the evening of my second day here, and for the record I was already asleep when this note came. I was taking a pre-party-power-nap, which judging so far how these kids party, hard, and into the not so wee hours of the morning, I’ll be doing frequently. More on that later.
At around seven on Thursday evening, I met Sam. Sam is a fellow from South London, who is studying American History. He immediately asked if I’ve been following the US Primaries, and then says “Look mate, I just want to tell you if… and I don’t know if you are… but if you’re a Bushite people here are going to rip the piss out of you.”
To rip the piss out of is a term for “Tease.” Sam uses it frequently. There are other things you can rip from someone, such as “the Mickey” but that is reserved for company who doesn’t appreciate hearing about your piss, such as Grandmothers. “Taking a piss on” someone is like teasing, except in the sense of pulling your leg, and “Fuck off?” is the preferred response when you think someone is taking a piss on you… synonymous with the American “No shit?”
I tell Sam I am not a Bushite, and that my piss is safe from being ripped out of me. By the look on his face, no one ever says anything of that sort out here, and I am already accomplishing the #1 thing they hope all American’s will accomplish: saying silly things.
This all is on the way to the grocery store, after Sam informed me that he didn’t have any food (As he had been gone for a month) and realized I hadn’t bought any since I arrived.
“I want to clear a few things up mate. We Brits aren’t all lawyers, and we don’t all have bad teeth. Do American’s really believe that?” I tell him I hadn’t heard the lawyer one but the bad teeth one was certainly a belief.
“In fact,” I say, “my friend Rachel even told me I should bring 6 months worth of toothpaste because you don’t even sell it here.”
“And she’s a good friend then, mate. I have to go to Paris every two weeks and smuggle a tube back in my anus. By your tone, I’m assuming you’ll be coming with me on Saturday?”
This conversation of stereotypes continues until we get to the store. I ask him shortly after we get there if they sell peanut butter here, which they do… everywhere. Mayonnaise is my next question, which he also confirms and then pauses, and gives me a sad look.
“I want you to know I could have ripped the piss out of you twice right there, and just started at you blankly as you asked me about peanut butter any mayonnaise… but I know you’re tired because you’re still jet lagged so I’m being nice, but tomorrow: you be ready,” says Sam.
We get back, eat some food, then go chill in our rooms for a while with the plan to leave for “The Union Bar” (the pub) in an hour. The University of East Anglia has at least 7 places that serve liquor, for a discounted rate, on campus. Five are full-on bars, one is a restaurant that has a bar, and one is a liquor store. (During out hour of chill time is when my message from the police comes.)
We get to the pub at around 9:30, it’s already packed. Sam and I go up to the bar and he asks “what are you drinking?” I tell him I’ll try what he’s drinking, as most of the drinks are new to me. He orders two Fosters-Shandy’s. Half Fosters beer, half lemonade. I’ve heard in America that Fosters isn’t popular in Australia, where it allegedly comes from. That may be the case, but it’s VERY popular over here.
Sam and I sit at a table and start chatting. We get back onto American politics and history, and he informs me that he can recite every US president ever, every state in alphabetical order, and every state capital. This isn’t because he’s majoring in American history, either. Every British student has to know this information.
“I thought of another stereotype,” I say after he tells me this. “British people are smarter than Americans…”
One of Sam’s friends comes over to say hi to him shortly after. Sam introduces us. Friend goes and sits back down at his table, and friend’s gorgeous female companion comes over to say hi to Sam. I have no way of knowing if she’s his girlfriend though. Sam introduces me to girl as well, whose name I learn is Emily. As soon as the American accent creeps out of my mouth her eyes go wide and she comes over and starts talking to me. We talk for about fifteen minutes, I don’t remember what she’s majoring in but it was something similar to creative writing. She tells me she lives in my dorm, the floor below me, and only one room away from mine. I’m getting psyched by the implications and then Sam’s friend comes back over. This has happened to me three times now, and I now understand that it’s just how they do things.
Sam’s friend is the boyfriend, shame… He interrupts our conversation and holds out his hand for a shake and very sternly says “Hi, I’m (insert name… I don’t remember.)” He then gives Emily a look, and points with his thumb to the door and says to her “We need to leave,” then turns his glare back at me. I’m happily sitting in my seat, and return his glare with sheer size… so scrawny boy with ruffled feathers and hurt ego leads his bombshell girlfriend out of the pub, and Sam and I continue chatting. (I didn’t just ignore my flat mate the last 15 minutes, he was off talking to someone else. I told him the story afterwards.)
Last call in England is at 10:45 pm. Pubs close at 11. Some have a permit for extended hours, which lets them serve until 1, but pubs usually only apply for that for special events. So what do Norwich kids do after leaving the pubs? SEX! Well… at least so the advertisements would say. The Norwich Campaign for Free Condoms has signs up on busses and all over town, which display “No Name? No Judgment? No Problem!” I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to mention that… I don’t think I’d get a better place than that. Prostitution is also very legal here. I’ve found their slogans and advertisements equally as amusing as those for the free condoms, however for sake of the fact that my mother is reading this I’ll just tell you that you can Google “Norwich Escorts” and find all the billboards if you’re interested.
The next day, which I believe was Friday we did more orientation stuff. I’m locked into my three classes, fiction, Shakespeare, and the politics of language (Which sounds really boring.) I went to the advisers office and tried to switch out of Politics into “Book Publishing” which sounds amazingly awesome.
At UEA you have to request an add/drop form ahead of time, and that has to be approved before you can even TRY to get into a class. (Unlike at UofA where you go pick one up and get everything approved after it’s signed.) So many people have requested forms for this class that they are no longer even granting preliminary add forms. I asked if I could go speak to the teacher and see if they would add me.
“Yes. You’ll have to speak to Whore about that.”
“Excuse me?”
“Whore. Rachel Whore. That’s the professor. If for some reason enough people drop the class, and none of the 20 students who have been issued preliminary add forms show up, then maybe… but Professor Whore is who you’d need to talk to.”
It was like this woman was trying to see how many times she could say WHORE before I let slip a giggle.
“Uhh… how do you spell that?” I ask scrambling for a pen and paper. All she responds with is “No W.”
I meet three more of my flat mates the next day. Dominic, Susan and Juliet. The four of us (Sam included) go to a “Welcome Back Party” for all the students at the LCR (lower common room.) I assume this’ll be a dinky little get together in some room below the bookstore. No, the LCR’s actually another bar. Go figure.
Shortly after we get there, Dominic announces he’s “going to the ladies,” and walks off. I ask Sam after Dominic is no longer within earshot if Dom is a ladies man. He confusedly answers, with vague details and then asks why I’m asking.
“Well, he said he’s going to the ladies… does he know some girls over there or… is he just going to go hit on some random girls?”
So in England it is common to say “Going to the ladies room” or “Gentlemen’s room” which gets shortened to just “the ladies” and “the gents.” Dom, in the same way I occasionally tell people I’m heading off to the powder room, makes the same joke. I figure now is a good time to tell Sam that if anything is ever said to me, and I immediately follow it with a question that has no bearing to any of the relevant context, assume I’ve misheard something.
Sam shortly heads back to the dorm, and Susan and Juliet wander off into their own world. Dom and I bond. As we’re wandering around, running into people on the rugby team (which Dom is part of, which is a pretty big deal here) I spot two girls trying to take a picture of themselves doing the ‘holding the camera in front of yourself’ method. I whisper to Dom “I’m flirting,” and then approach the ladies. They say they think they got a good shot of the two of them, but thank me for offering, this sparks a conversation.
Like most women I will randomly approach to flirt with, these two ladies were gorgeous. Dom observed later that again, as soon as they heard the accent and asked if I was American they wanted into my trousers! (Roar!)
So, like the girl from the previous night, there were boyfriends. Boyfriends were there. It took me until this evening to figure out that this is just how it WORKS in England. The guys came up and interrupted the conversation to introduce themselves to me. Unlike the guy last night, they were playing it cool, and like always, I was too. In America, the guy would come up and start yelling “YOU TRYING TO COP A FEEL ON MY WOMAN, YO? WHAT DU FUCK!” This is much more civilized. I wait for my cue from the girls, one of whom says “Well it was wonderful talking to you. Have a wicked time before going back to Arizona!” and then… and then…
Girl number one leans in and gives me a big kiss on the check… with boyfriend still standing right there. I freeze, fully expecting to get punched in the stomach only to feel girl number two kissing me also, still with boyfriend in toe.
These Brits kick ass…
I apologize this post is as long as it is, and I’m assuming it starts to be apparent about halfway through that I was feeling deadline pressure as this has covered the span of roughly a week… I have more to write, I’m finishing this two days after it happened and have two more days to write about but I’ll save that! Thanks for reading!
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