I don’t know if it’s that I am now in a true British workplace, or what. But lately I have felt a little Lost in Translation. Except that I am not as hot as Scarlett Johansson. Speaking of breasts, I have a new name for my body type: gymnast boobs. This is a really positive way of saying “small.” Ladies, go with me here.
So the foreigner week I’m having. I have been concentrating so much at work to make sure I ask if something is near the lifts, remain on “shedule”, know that “pound sign” means a currency symbol and even attempt to eat my food in a civilized manner with knife and fork in the hands at all times. But then I was in line at a deli and I heard two former world colonists having a discussion, after eyeing Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for sale, about how disgusting “American sweets” are. Nobody talks shit about a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. NOBODY. And then I went to Subway – AN AMERICAN CHAIN – and there was no oil or vinegar on the premises. And the man laughed at me when I asked for some.
And then all I really cared about was getting some pants tailored. No, not Bryan’s brown pants- my OWN brown pants. The pants I bought in AMERICA where things are CHEAPER, and lugged all the way to LONDON to pay for tailoring equal to the price of a pair of pants.
My conversation at the dry cleaners:
Me: Excuse me, do you have a tailor here?
Woman: Yes, I am a tailor.
Me: Oh great!! That is soooo great!!! I need to get some pants tailored. Will you be here at lunchtime?
Me: You saved my day. Excellent.
Woman: But we don’t do measurements. You have to bring the clothes already pinned.
Me: But I…wha…I…but that’s what I need a tailor for.
Woman: (crosses her arms and stares).
I just keep thinking one day I might open my mailbox and my favorite Korean lady from Brooklyn will pop out and give me a manicure, a good tailoring and maybe throw in some Bi Bim Bop for shits and giggles. Not that I am hinting.