[Culturechat] A foreigner in his own country

oosterman@cableone.net oosterman@cableone.net
Mon, 11 Mar 2002 08:57:43 -0700


Vance et al, we lived in a Boston suburb all our lives until we moved to this small town in the mountains of Arizona eight years ago, so your stories and others are a delight to us as we recall a faster paced life.  And yes, we did have to change our driving habits, especially making left turns in front of oncoming traffic when the light turns green - that is a definite no-no in most other parts of the country, with the possible exception of NYC.  However, my husband did "revert" to his old habits last week and got a ticket for cutting off a State Trooper.  Oh well, such is life in the slow lane!  Astrid O.


 



-----Original Message-----
From:	"culturechat-admin@untours.com" <culturechat-admin@untours.com> on behalf of	"Vance Roy" <giglisaw@aiconnect.com>
Sent:	Mon, 11 Mar 2002 15:11:33 +0100
To:	"Laeink@aol.com" <Laeink@aol.com>
Cc:	"culturechat" <culturechat@untours.com>
Subject:	Re: [Culturechat] A foreigner in his own country

Vance Roy at gigli.saw@dplanet.ch wrote:

I spent my time in BOS in 1969-71. The U. S. Navy "asked" for my assistance,
and I spent two years developing my Boston personality and living amongst
the natives. It was a rewarding experience and had opportunities been right,
I would have stayed in NH or VT close by the city.

My first Boston experience was in a cab on the way from logan to the
Children's hospital. On Storrow drive, we got into a jam (isn't there always
one there?). My driver got and beat the daylights out of another cab driver,
got back in the cab, and drove me onward. I wondered if I should have upped
the tip because he came out on top in the fight. Now, remember, I was
directly out of a residency in Memphis, TN. (you know, that Mississippi
River backwater town?). Where I came from Bostonese brusqueness was called
bad manners at best. Cabbies didn't try to kill each other.

Then there was the time that I asked a drugstore clerk where the toothpaste
was. I interrupted an obviously important conversation she was having with
another employee leaning on a counter with her. She acted like I had crawled
from under a rock, and her language wasn't very nice. I wasn't sure where
she was going to put the toothpaste when she gave it to me.

Of course, with Tennessee plates on my car (military did not have to have MA
registration), I was fair game for the daily game of dodge em cars to and
from work. I learned downtown Boston by going in on Sunday AMs and driving
around. I realized that a native Bostonian had been correct when he told me
that the streets had been laid out by a maddened dogcatcher. This was when
The Big Dig was yet a gleam in the politician's eyes. Now, traffic is just a
real chinese fire drill.

Then there was the time that I went into a sub shop. This was long before
subs were known in the South (always capitalized). The guy treated me like I
had just arrived from another planet and had left my fly open.

The final blow came one morning when a woman (hesitate to use lady here) cut
me off at an intersection, flipped the universal sign at me, and then
laughed. I resolved that the very next so and so I could find was going to
taste the bumper of my car. I spent the rest of my two years there trying to
hit someone. I concluded that Bostonese have 360 degree peripheral vision
and can escape any assault.

I also found out that the same drugstore clerk, mentioned above, responded
very well to abuse. If I walked in and said, "I need nothing that would be
found in this &^%(* dump" (you are welcome chat Gestapo), she would break
her neck trying to make me happy. That was how I started to develop my
Boston personality and vastly improved my cussing vocabulary.

Those were the days of Vietnam, the Bruins, Bobby Orr, Stanley Cups two
years in a row, and the old Boston Gaaaaden. "The family" lived in Revere,
MA so every so often a house would mysteriously blown up while the family
was away for the weekend. This was the Mafioso way of saying, "straighten
up". We were one of two Gentile families in our building, so I gained
insight into wonderful Jewish feasts and recipes. My two toddlers developed
such great Yankee accents that they had to have elocution sessions when we
returned to Alabama. They were the hit of the kindergarten when they showed
up to show the little Yanks a stalk of real cotton from West Tennessee. The
other little apes thought cotton came ready made as cloth. Cultural
interchange was underwy.

Now, I am in a real quandary. I tried my Boston tactics on someone at Logan
last week, and I thought he was going to cry. Can it be that the old Boston
has gone soft?? In my previous life there, hostility meant you cared enough
to be one of them.
 
Leslie, I hope you take this in the proper spirit as it is written. I agree
with what you say in general. Are you sure we are talking about the same
Boston? The one in Massachusetts?

Vance Roy
gigli.saw@dplanet.ch



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