Oblivious Abroad

Overheard at the Uni:“Aye, that Juno movie put me right off! I won’t even be thinkin’ about havin’ kids ’til I’m old, like thirty or so.”

*snicker*

In our little Survey of Things Which We Don’t Quite Get a couple of weeks ago, we forgot to mention another name for D., which, in the wilds of the West where we’re from, comes under the heading of “Them’s Are Fightin’ Words.” The name is — Big Man.

Despite being over six feet tall, D. doesn’t consider himself really a big man. In our neighborhood, he was average, as our across-the-way neighbor, Ron, is at least as tall, if not a little taller, and both Tom and his wife next door are almost six feet.

Outside of the literal sense of the words, “big man” is probably not something most Bay Area people would want to be called (sorry to be so specific, but we can only speak for our wee-tiny neck of the woods). The phrase seems to come with “you think you’re a –” at one end, or “trying to be a –” before it. It’s not a compliment where we’re from, as it either describes someone with a major enchilada addiction or an ego issue, thus it’s very odd to D. to have so many people say to him, “Cheers, Big Man,” or “there’s you, Big Man,” in a store. He’s warily taking it as a compliment, or at least as a literal statement of fact — he is bigger than a whole heap of Glaswegians — but it’s a weird one to hear.

Meanwhile, T. has continued to have Adventures With Sullen Delivery Guys. In our old flat, when she was reading for a children’s literature award, several times a day, delivery guys rang up with huge boxes of books. One guy arrived in the pouring rain, soaked and shivering, but holding her box safe and dry under his jacket. She tipped him £2 — and then watched as the real clouds came out. He scowled, and practically spat, “What’s this for, then?”

And that hasn’t been the only time. While Americans tip — at restaurants and coffee shops — other people don’t. When in Estonia, D’s boss gave him a disbelieving look when he asked how much it was typical to tip cabbies. “You don’t,” he’d said flatly, and refused to allow us to do so.

Tipping is One Of Those Things on which many people have an opinion. D’s father always told him that the letters “t.i.p” stood for “to insure promptness,” but neither D. nor T. subscribe to that theory. Knowing that most hotel personnel in the U.S. make only the minimum wage, it’s considered a courtesy to leave a couple of dollars on the bed for the people tidying the room, if you’re staying in a hotel for an extended length of time (or even if you’re not). Tips are usually received with the usual embarrassment reserved for monetary exchanges, especially if they’re handed over directly, but generally with thanks — because let’s face it, the minimum wage isn’t that much. Here… sometimes tips are received with outright hostility.

“Just get yourself a cup of coffee,” T. was goaded into blurting at a stone-faced, glowering man-boy last week. “It’s cold.” “Right then,” he said ungraciously, and, taking the £2, slammed out of the building.

“It makes me feel like I’m harassing them,” T. complained to our friend A. “Or else like I’ve propositioned them or something. I’m not trying to be Lady of the Manor; if they’ve had to haul something heavy up those slick stairs and into the flat, I’m appreciative, and it’s at most a pound or two!”

“Yeah, but then they owe you,” A. explained. “You’ve been nice to them, and now they… owe you. I can’t explain it better than that.”

T. figured it out, though — the old “we don’t need your charity, we won’t be beholden to anyone” attitude is a familiar one Out West. So, she now saves her tips for Polish or English delivery guys, who don’t seem to mind it, the green grocer guy, who has slowly grown accustomed to it, and for coffee shops and restaurants. She hopes she hasn’t either offended anyone or slighted anyone, feels like a “right eejit,” and the whole topic now gives her a blinding headache.

This time of year at D&T’s undergraduate college, students are combing the woods for the first diogenes lanterns, the elusive-as-truth wildflower found in the northern coastal ranges of California. Here, there are more and more of the purply-white crocuses, and soon the true yellow and purple ones. Perhaps if we keep saying it’s coming, we’ll have some actual signs of Spring.

– D & T

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