I don’t want to sound pedantic or come across like a patriotic, small-minded foreigner. The truth is that I hate generalizations and, even so, I am writing these words – I suppose we can’t help falling into the trap of betraying our intentions sometimes, like the child who takes over his father’s way of closing up when talking about emotions, even if he has hated it throughout his childhood. The thing is that I’ve experienced rudeness in the country where people pride themselves on being polite.
In the past, all my teachers of English use to bang on for hours about how polite English people are; “They always take care not to forget their p’s and q’s”, they said. When I learnt I was coming to study in London I was worried because, to be honest, I blaspheme sometimes (only, of course, when the situation is unequivocally deserving of my anger,) as for example when I’m having a ghastly day or my morale is at a low ebb. But soon after my arrival, I began to realize that English people’s politeness is a funny one, rather tricky I would say, but not necessarily better or worse than any other country’s politeness. In England, politeness is a matter of “saying” not “doing” (and with “saying I mean its literal meaning) and thus language becomes a tool for them. A tool to show the emotions, good and bad ones, they do not show with their bodies – these remain stiff like their stiff upper-lip. In England, the language differentiates two who are rich from those who are poor, it differentiates cities, boroughs and I wouldn’t be surprised if it also differentiates streets! I can be used to order the most awkward and unfair things in the most nice, delicate and polite ways. All these things are normal, and we could even say that they happen in every single language, but what strikes me the most is how empty the word “sorry” proves to be sometimes.
In London everybody says “sorry” and “excuse me” (in this I can verify they never forget their p’s and q’s) if they accidentally hit you on the tube or one the street, which is rather polite really but, do they really mean it? Soon I discovered that few do. Londoners don’t usually look at the other person’s eyes when they apologize outdoors, they simply keep on walking. What is more, it is unbelievable how many times people hit me in a day. Twenty times? More? They always say “sorry”, but only five out of twenty continue saying “are you ok? I didn’t want to hit you. Sorry for having dragged your bag or pushing you for five meters”, or something like that. Am I allowed (or is it less crass) to sneeze on your face if I’ve got the sniffles, if next I say an empty “sorry”? Can I do it twenty times a day without reprisals?
On my first month here I usually made light of this, but now it is starting to get on my nerves. Wouldn’t it be easier to calm down and stop rushing and hitting people?
What I really deplore is when I collide head-on with someone one the streets, train station, in a shop or supermarket and after some moments of struggling, moving right and left simultaneously, my opponent mumbles “shit! Get out of… (intelligible)”. He puts on his rugby helmet and charges at me, bending his shoulders and leaving me trashed behind him, with a face of “this is not true, this can’t be happening”. These are the moments when I really miss my f’s and u’s’ and, as I’ve found out recently, the catalyst of my anger.
I know I am being a bit cantankerous, and by now you will have already taken me for a misanthropist, but I am not, or at least I’ve never been…. God! Now I am not only a misanthropist but also presumptuous! Ok, I promise I will reflect on these little vices of mine if you agree to have a clearway with me about your social manners. And the truth is that I really commiserate with you, Londoner, since living in such a big city is not plain sailing. I suppose this is one of the consequences which are tied into living in a crowded metropolis; being always in a hurry, crowded trains, crowded streets, crowded shops, foreigners everywhere who don’t know where to go and stop out of the blue in the middle of the pavement, platform or undergrounds’ corridor. Honestly, if I were in your shoes, I think I would probably become tired of it after some months. I am not trying to win you over, you know, what for? I am going back to my country soon after all.
From my stay in London I will bring with me to my country, some bad anecdotes like this aside, great memories and many friends, some British among them. Except for those who were crass to me, many other people usually made my day by smiling back at me on the supermarket queue or when I let them away, or by voicing their feeling when they liked my shoes, scarf or sunglasses. Those moments brought a big smile to my face then, now and always.
Fatima Guerra Garcia
No comments:
Post a Comment