Who’s In Charge?

And now it’s time for another sociological perambulation through the city of Glasgow with the Hobbits.

Reflex. So much of how we interact in polite society is all a matter of reflex; a set of agreed-upon, societally acceptable behaviors. If you live in Glasgow, the agreed upon behavior is to talk about the weather. You can find yourself having seven conversations a day about the weather — literally. Yes. The sky is gray. Yes. It is coming down, isn’t it. An almost daily occurrence, yet we have nothing else on which to converse.

In the Bay Area, the reflex is to smile. We smile at strangers — it’s considered to be neighborly or friendly. We smile when we’re ordering our coffee. We smile when we see other people’s ill-bred children. Somehow, that is a New World tendency. People here are sometimes startled when we smile. We’ve already remarked on how quickly Glaswegians (and most Scots we’ve met) walk. They’re uncomfortable — why are you trying to meet their eyes? — and most practically break into a sprint, or cross the street to get away. Not even small children offer up smiles automatically. It’s interesting.

People in the UK are very, very patient. They wait in line very well (or “on queue” as they say it). T. recalls a French professor telling her that stop signs, at which Americans all take during a four-way-stop, would never work in France. While Americans embrace politeness, they also embrace impatience. They might not cut in line in front of you as the French are rumored to do, but they will certainly lay on their horn and remind you to get going.

The long lines of patient people waiting at the hospital, the library or elsewhere would never work in the U.S. “Does someone know why the line’s not moving?” we can hear our compatriots now. “What’s going on? Who’s in charge?” Americans seem never to believe that whomever is on the other side of the counter is in charge. We’re always looking for someone higher up to hear our complaint.

It’s really interesting to see how people deal with conflict in Glasgow. We were recently on a train when a young girl came in, flounced down and took out her music player, which she proceeded to listen to loudly. People came into the train and sat down, and other adults glanced over at her, and looked unhappy, but no one said a word to her — she was about fifteen.

Eventually, a conductor came on, zeroed in on the girl and said firmly, “Now, you turn that right down,” and she did — immediately. No fuss, no lip, and everyone in the entire car visibly relaxed.

On an intercity bus trip, a drunk man began to sing – badly – some awful 70’s love song. Even before we pulled away, a junior bus attendant went back and told him off quite sternly. This pipsqueak kid was maybe nineteen, and just tongue-lashing this big drunk dude who was at least in his mid-thirties — who meekly piped down. The driver had to remind him once, and threatened to leave him on the side of the road (T. says this is how all bus drivers act — ask her Dad, who drove for SF Muni.) However, on another bus trip, a man spoke up and asked a fellow rider to turn down his music, and oh, the swearing and vituperation that went on. Apparently, the average person isn’t allowed to turn to the person next to them, and say, “Could you turn that down?” No. That’s being a busybody, and several other multi-syllabic words. People in authority are paid to do that sort of thing, and it’s apparently appropriate to wait for them.

On one hand, this is the better part of wisdom; many people who ride public transportation are drunk or pugnacious or otherwise acting anti-socially; if you’re riding the bus, and not cozy behind your two tons of steel in a personal vehicle, you have to observe some caution. But on the other hand, it’s still a little bewildering, and is certainly different here than in the Bay Area. There, the power of the social majority seems to rule. If someone came in with loud music and back-talked an older person, six people would yell at him and scold him for not being respectful, and then — he’d end up having to turn off his music anyway — somebody would have called the BART police.

Which brings us to a personal Hobbit Experience:

In the United States, the Environmental Protection Agency monitors and assesses water and air quality; in the city of Glasgow, Environmental Protection Services monitor and asses… the quality of life. We discovered soon after moving to this flat that there are students living below us, and at times, they seem to enjoy having the odd rave. What to do? First, we endured — then we introduced ourselves and talked them into giving us a text number so we could text them if they got too loud. It all sounded so genteel. Too bad it didn’t work.

Friends told D. he needed to phone the EPS. That body will send out a pair of officers to one’s residence, and do a decibel level test to determine if one’s neighbors are in violation of the law.

Mind you, if they show up and the party winds down a little, they’ll shrug. If you phone them before 7 p.m., they’ll shrug and say, “Well, it’s above the decibel level, but it’s early yet; call us after 11. You may end up calling them repeatedly, and realize how much time you’re wasting, and be completely frustrated with the universe…

BUT! If all the planets align, they’re not between CD tracks when the officers arrive, they don’t suddenly all decide to remember that the law states that their noise level has to be down by 11 p.m., or they don’t all spontaneously decide to go elsewhere (either scenario being PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE), the EPS officers will go to your neighbor’s residence and give them a warning. A second visit will result in a £100 fine.

Sadly, we never managed to get those planets to align.

Previously if we had noisy neighbors, phoning the police would be enough. Knocking on their door was, to put it mildly, an adventure. D. very gamely introduced himself to the upper and lower neighbors, he wrote letters, which he slipped under the door. He went down and interrupted a gathering, and was argued with about the right to enjoy a “different kind of student lifestyle than you.” T., whose reflex is to kick, bite or scratch people who annoy her, had to be tied up at home.

Okay, fine. Only one of you believes that. Truthfully, it was no fun dealing with drunk neighbors, as it made T. andD. nervous, and at 4 this morning, as T. sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands, listening to a repetitive bass line, she really considered putting aside her scruples, and kicking down their door. But D. patiently got up and called EPS – only to have them inform him that the EPS will not come out after 3 a.m. — which is when the pubs close here in Glasgow. Wise people are not abroad at that hour, but the police are patrolling on foot and in pairs.

It took them twenty minutes to arrive. And when they left, they took a few folk with them.

Whew.

We’ve heard that community policing in our neighborhood is difficult, because few people want to call out the police. It’s hard to understand why that may be — it seems that people in Glasgow really respect Authority, and if Authority speaks, most make at least an outward show of prompt obedience (unless they’re really far gone, like our neighbor this morning, who argued fairly vociferously). In the Bay Area, though we have Issues With Authority, people call the police at the drop of a hat. After all, the words “To Protect and Serve” are emblazoned on almost every single police car in every single city. We want to be protected. We want service. And we want it now. Otherwise, we’re going to sternly ask to see your supervisor.

“Who’s in charge, here?”

– D & T

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