The American Office

So you’ve decided to move to America, get a job and live your life in the sun. Fine, but what about when you actually start work? [I’m talking about in an office here]  Do you really know what you’re getting yourself into? I thought so too, I mean, how hard can it possibly be? Americans speak English, so there’s absolutely no problem.  How wrong I was.  

I have commented a little on this before in this post HERE.

Computer keyboards and spelling were the very least of my problems, I quickly found out. Walking into an American office is like being in a whole new world. They’ve got their own words for absolutely everything. Here are a few:

CV aka Curriculum Vitae:    You won’t be providing your CV at a job interview, you will have to have a Resumé. Of course, it’s basically the same thing, but you know those crazy Americans!  In my experience, the only people who have a Curriculum Vitae are doctors, because apparently they are special.

Pay Rise:    It might take you a while to get one, but if you are going to ask for one, don’t forget to ask for a Raise.  I’m sure you will be understood, but you really don’t want to chance it, do you?

Make Redundant:    There’s always the possibility that if you ask for too many raises, you will be Laid Off, which I don’t actually think is a reason you can be sacked (Fired or Dismissed), but you never know.

Square Brackets:    Sounds simple enough, but not in the good old USA.  Square brackets are known as Brackets. Somewhat confusing,  but what makes it worse is to us Brits, [these] are "square brackets," and (these) are “brackets” - to Americans [these] are “brackets” and (these) are “parentheses”.  I was once very confused about all this. I was working as a medical transcriptionist the first time I ever heard anyone say 'parentheses.' I had to ask what he was saying because I thought it was some terrible disease.  [true story]

Curly Braces:    Yes, of course there’s a different name for {these} too.  They are just Braces.

Sellotape:    Although this is the largest manufacturer of sticky tape in the UK, apparently they haven’t reached America.  Scotch Tape is the biggest seller here, so that’s what it’s called.  

Tippex:    The same can be said about Tippex.  Try asking for it here and you will get a blank stare. Probably the same kind of stare you would get from someone who’s been sniffing the stuff. [It does smell nice though, doesn’t it?]  It’s called Liquid Paper here (a bit obvious, if you ask me) Apparently, so the rumour goes, it was invented by the mum of one of the Monkees.  Ask anyone here and they will tell you so.

The original 'old school' bottle

Tick:    You know, the thing you use when you’re taking a multiple choice test and you have to a tick the right answer.  If someone in America asks you to check the box, don’t be looking around the room for the box they want you to check.  A check or check-mark is really a tick.

Drawing-Pin:    This one actually makes a bit of sense.  Thumb-tack does actually describe it a bit better, after all you don’t actually draw with a drawing pin, do you?

Bank Holiday:    Those days that you count down to on the calendar because you get a day off work and can drink.  In America, it’s just called a holiday even though the banks are, actually, closed too. Mind you, just because it’s on the calendar, doesn’t mean you will be lucky enough to have the day off.  A lot of holidays are not recognized by everyone.

Holiday:    You know, the fortnight in the summer that you also count down to.  It’s a vacation here and it never seems to be two weeks.  It is quite frowned upon to actually take a whole two weeks off at the same time. You seem to have to take a week here and there or a Monday or Friday for a long weekend.

Guillotine:    This has to be the best sounding piece of office equipment ever, doesn’t it?  Just makes you think of all those heads falling into baskets.  The first time I asked for one here, I got looked at like I could be an axe murderer. You want a what?? What are you going to do, are you angry at someone? Nope, I just need to cut some paper, please.  Oh, the disappointment when I found out it was called a Paper Cutter.  How dreadfully boring! (but also a bit obvious)

Not exactly what I was looking for

Oh, and just so you know, all offices look like this - the cubicle nightmare:

No, I am not kidding. (Okay, maybe I might be).

Let me know if you have heard any other weird/different names for everyday office stuff .

Oh Good Grief - It's National Hugging Day!

Today in America it’s National Hugging Day… yes, you did read that right, it’s a day that celebrates hugging. [*shudders*]

I can hear all British expats in the USA right now actually cringing.  This is going to be a day to stay in bed, I think, or at least not venture out of the house just in case you are suddenly accosted by some random stranger who wants to hug you.  [*gulp*]  How absolutely appalling.

This is just Not British!  I don’t understand why there needs to be a whole day of celebration and I’m sure I’m not the only one with that British aversion to hugging.  Why hug when a good old “How do you do?” and perfectly fine handshake will suffice.  But then Americans find us a bit standoffish and rude if we don’t hug.  

It has taken me a long time to get used to the fact that I will be hugged whether I like it or not.  To compound the fact, my fiancé is in a motorcycle club and their culture is to take anyone into an embrace or bear hug to say hello.  For the first few years, I would stand stiffly with my hands at my sides and kind of grimace.  It was a bit like being hugged by an ancient uncle whom you had never met, who kind of smelled like mothballs, and clutched you to his chest a wee bit long for your liking. So very uncomfortable.

I have tended to get over my phobia a little though, I pretty much had to, being around bikers so much.  I was once informed I was a bit of a snooty b*tch, to which my only reply was, “Well, I’m English, that’s how we are.”  [Sorry England]

So true!

So I’m just going to say once and for all “I’m sorry America that I don’t hug as much as you would like, go ahead and have your Hugging Day, but please, please, please do NOT include me!” [and certainly don't try to touch me]

Thank you.

New year, New ....?

.. Well not exactly new me.  I ended the year as a gobby cow (as usual) and began it in the same way. Obviously not my fault...

We were in a bar (not a pub) who had decided it would be a good idea to have karaoke for New Year's Eve. Not brilliant on a normal day, in my opinion, but it takes all sorts.  

So there we are, a couple of minutes to midnight when up steps probably the worst "singer" in the place. (Singer being used in the loosest meaning of the word here).  And he wailed and he whined his way through some awful rendition of something.  

All the while the televisions have been on in the background and the pre-recorded ball drop from New York begins - and he just kept on going.  

5... 4.... "Stop Singing" I shouted, 3....  "Shut Up" ....2.... "STOP" .... 1!  Too late.  

And then it was midnight and he just kept right on going.  Talk about ruin the moment.  Party poppers were being pulled, noise makers were being blown, there was cheering, clapping and kissing and there he was in the background screaming to be heard!  

By this time I wanted to take his microphone and stick it where the sun don't shine.  Of course, I didn't because I'm much too nice to do that.  I just stood and moaned to everyone around me.

But what do I know, it might have been on his bucket list to bring in the new year crooning to a bar full of people, so I will give him the benefit of the doubt.  I just wish I didn't have to be a witness to it. [*smile*]

Oh, and of course there was a fight. I don't think it was as a result of the karaoke, possibly just too much alcohol,  but then it wouldn't be a proper New Year's Eve without a fight  would it?

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!

Picture courtesy Metro.co.uk

The Advent Adventure

I remember the good old days when the only way you knew it was getting close to Christmas was when the advent calendar came out.  I don’t think my mum was cheap, (sorry mum) but I had the same one every single year and it wasn’t one of those fancy calendars with chocolate.  Oh no, I had the one with a little nativity picture behind every door.

The excitement grew throughout the month as every morning you ran to find the door of the day and open it before school.  I got to know that calendar so well that I pretty much knew what each picture was going to be. But somehow, it didn’t take any of the thrill out of it.   The day of the 24th was always the best because there was a double door! [*squee*]  I already knew there would be a picture of baby Jesus in his manger, but I didn’t care because the next day the big man himself would be here.

This is how I remember it

It really was a brilliant Christmas that first year the calendars came with Cadbury chocolate behind each door. Of course, I was too old by then to have one, but my children benefited nicely.  I’m not sure exactly how healthy it was to have a lump of chocolate before school every day for a month, but it did get them out of bed quicker, I must say.

It all changed when we got to America. It seems like nobody knew what an advent calendar was. My poor kiddies had to wait for some kind relative to send one to us each year, which invariably did not arrive until the middle of December.  This was actually fine by them as they got to eat two weeks worth of chocolate in one day.

It was like an actual Christmas miracle that first year I found an advent calendar here.  I was probably in one of those swanky “European” shops which sometimes sell PG Tips and Christmas Crackers. But there they were, up on the shelf, just glowing and calling out to me.  Of course I had to buy two and those flippin’ things were expensive.  (Now I know why I had the same one every year).

Over the years, they have become more available, but obviously still not as popular as in England. On a recent shopping trip, I noticed that America, apparently, still doesn’t entirely understand the advent calendar concept.  These things are everywhere – can you spot the problem?  You’ve got to put your own “stuff” in each day.  Where’s the excitement about that?  No, just no.  Sorry America, please go back to the drawing board.

I don’t have any children living at home anymore, so really, the Advent Calendar days are behind me…. Or so I thought.  Then I found this little beauty.  It's a Gin calendar... GIN!!  Please, please can someone buy one for me. And no, I don't care that it will be half way through the month.  I'm sure I can handle it.  Thank you. And Happy Christmas!!  [to me]

Gin - Don't mind if I do!!

Oh, and for all those US born peeps who still don't understand what I'm talking about - and I know you're out there because I've asked many of you, this is from Wikipedia:

An Advent calendar is a special calendar used to count or celebrate the days in anticipation of Christmas. Since the date of the first Sunday of Advent varies, falling between November 27 and December 3 inclusive, the Advent calendar usually begins on December 1, although many include the previous few days that are part of the season. The Advent calendar was first used by German Lutherans in the 19th and 20th centuries but is now ubiquitous among adherents of many Christian denominations.

The San Bernardino Shooting

This was not the blog post I was going to write today, but circumstances changed.  

I’m not going to get into the gun control debate because there’s enough of that already.  

This is just what happened to me yesterday.

Well yesterday was a bit out of the ordinary for an English girl.  Unfortunately not so much for many Americans though.  I work in San Bernardino, just around the corner from the building where the so called "mass shooting" took place.  

At around 11 a.m. an email was sent to us saying 'active shooting' and stay in the building. Obviously no more work was accomplished that morning (or the remainder of the day actually).  People began watching news reports on their computer so we could see exactly where it was happening and we were quite shocked when we saw just how close it was.  

Reports kept coming through of how many people had been killed and then we got another email which said 'Meeting in conference room immediately'. [A bit ominous]  We were told the 'situation' was being monitored and we were welcome to go home if we wanted to - however, they would not advise it as the building was on lockdown and the shooters had not been apprehended.  We could leave AT OUR OWN RISK.  Well, what a choice... Sit at your desk all day wondering if you would ever get to go home or take your life into your hands and try and get to your car!  Very reassuring, I must say.

I lasted a couple more hours before I decided to go home - because quite frankly being at home on the sofa is better than even the best day at work really.  

Walking from the building to my car had my heart beating quite fast.  I could see my little Mini from the door, but it felt like it was a mile away.  The car park was deserted and there was not a security guard in sight - I think they had all bolted at the first sign of trouble to be honest.

What didn't help was as soon as I walked out the door and was out in the open police sirens broke the silence with screeching and revving engines very close by.  Needless to say I nearly wee'd myself.  I didn't want to run to my car as that would make me look silly, [also I didn't want to draw attention to myself] so I speed(?) walked and jumped in, locked the door and took a deep breath.  Phew.

As I drove to the entrance driveway the sirens got closer and police cars flew past on the freeway.  A Twitter alert came in saying there was now a car chase with shots fired.  Oh bloody hell, I thought, I should have stayed at my desk!

The town was pretty much deserted and I got home in record time, which was nice.  

What really amazed me (but probably shouldn't) was the amount of rumour and paranoia during the day. Work colleagues were freaking out in case we “were next”, there were said to be gunmen running amok in all directions, some were posting on Facebook that they could see it all happening outside the window which they clearly couldn’t – the building is 1.1 miles away and unless you’ve got super x-ray vision and can see through buildings and around corners, there’s no way.  Yes, we could hear the police and see all the helicopters, but that’s about it.  I work on the sixth floor and as I wandered around, even going to the fifth floor, all doors were closed and locked tight.  Some had notes saying if you wanted to get in, you should phone them.  Never mind the fact that the main doors to the building were locked and nobody could get in, let alone up in the lift to a random floor in the building.  I know I probably sound like a right uncompassionate cow, but I will admit it was a bit scary, to be sure.

It did make me reminisce for the good old days growing up just outside London when the only thing we had to be worried about, terrorist wise, was the IRA.  Granted you never knew when a bomb would go off, but when they did, at least there weren’t nutters running around with guns shooting at everyone.  They were already back in Ireland.

The IRA blew up the pub round the corner from my Nan's house

The world has become a very crazy place and this was just a bit too close for my liking!

A Letter to England.... I'm Sorry

I’m sorry England.  I’ve tried, I really have, but in the last 20 years of being here I have defended English cuisine until I am blue in the face, but I have to admit there are a lot of English foods I really can’t stand.  I know, I know, you’ve had to live with the terrible assertion by all Americans that English food is bland and well, unpalatable and I’m so sorry, I actually have to agree on some things.

Here’s a list of my terribly unBritishness

Jellied Eels

Oh good grief, I have no idea how anyone decided that these needed to be eaten.  Just the thought of them makes me a bit watery mouthed.  Who was it that first thought “Oh, that wiggly snake like creature in that river should be cut into tiny pieces and boiled in stock and left to cool so it sets into jelly and then eaten with a wooden stick.”  Um, no thank you.

Spotted Dick

Sure, when this was on the menu for school dinners it got a snicker all around.  Only thing is, you had to actually eat the awful stuff.  I don’t care how much [lumpy] custard  it was floated in, the boiled sponge is a thing of my nightmares.  A suet pastry and dried fruit concoction just sounds disgusting. And really, it doesn’t float in the custard, it basically sinks to the bottom because it’s so dense and heavy.

I do have that one friend though, who keeps giving me a tin of it every flippin’ Christmas.

Treacle Pudding

This was another one of those school “treats” that was regularly in rotation on the menu.  Again, and this is probably just me, but it was horrible.  A sticky, stodgy mess, in my opinion.  And treacle, just no.

Mushy Peas

While growing up, I absolutely detested peas with a passion.  I would sit at the table for ages before I could get down because I had to finish those little green horrors.  Eventually, as I grew up, I just basically gave up fighting and ate them.  I can’t say I actually ‘enjoy’ them now, but I do eat them. However, mushy peas are a whole other kettle of fish.  I just don’t understand why you would want to smash them to bits and dollop them on chips.  They used to be a purely “northern” menu item, but last time I was in London, they seem to have taken over.  Everywhere serves them… it’s like that old film The Blob, but now its a great big green blob of peas.  And they try to disguise it by adding mint! I think it’s the fact that marrow peas are used instead of normal peas – they have a whole flavour of their own.

Although, I will say, my other half really, really likes them – not that he’s ever going to eat them in my house.

Black Pudding

I know, it wouldn’t be a ‘real’ full English without lack pudding (or blood sausage as its called in the US), but in my opinion, you can keep it.  Really, how appetizing does pork blood and oatmeal shaped into a sausage sound?   Be honest here.  I have nothing else to say about this, except maybe YUCK!

England, there are other things which I just cannot eat, you know like Scotch eggs, Marmalade and of course Marzipan (why oh why do you have to spoil a perfectly good Christmas cake with a layer of the stuff under that wonderful icing?)  

I’m sorry and I feel like I’ve let you down.  I promise I have not handed in my British card and don’t ever intend to, so please be nice and send me some pork pies.  Everything will be forgotten and I promise I will never speak of my faux pas again.

Thank you

The American Bath

Yesterday I had a little time to myself so I thought I would give myself a bit of a pamper.  It had been a while so I thought I would have a nice soak in the bath and do a facepack and all the girly stuff I don't usually do.

So I ran the bath got everything ready jumped in ... and then out again because it was too hot [isn't it always?] After running another couple of gallons of cold water, I sat myself down stretched out and this happened:

I have one question for America, the land of bigger is better. What the bloody hell happened to your baths?? Really?  I'm only 5 feet 2 and I can't lie down without my knees touching my chin!!  

To add insult to injury I turned around and saw this: 

The bath is so low, I thought Spencer was about to join me.  So much for my hour of pampering.  Its worse than having kids - at least you can tell them to bugger off out and close the door.

Yes, I did have my phone with me because as anyone knows, the minute you step in the bath the phone rings.

Also, it was not easy to get my hair washed in that tiny little tub so I gave up and went in the shower!

Oh, how I miss my English bath that was so long I practically had to drown myself to put my feet on the end and it was so deep I could barely rest my elbows on the edges without looking like I was trying to fly.  Ahhh... 

But then I remembered how flipping cold it was when you got out and tried to get dry and dressed before frost bite set in, especially in October.  That's when I decided I would stick with the American shower.

It's not like this was the first time I had ever been in an American bath, but it's been such a long time and it looked all neglected and lonely sitting in the corner.  I had just forgotten just how flaming small they were.  

Apparently countries have different priorities.  In England its all about depth with long, skinny and deep baths and in America its about width with short, wide and shallow baths.  [I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere]

Still have no idea why those things are so small though.

This is what it felt like.