Welcome to the asshole club. It doesn’t take much to be a part of this club — just British attitude, a permanent sneer and poor manners. Members of this club are found all over London: on the tubes and trains, in the shops and on the street. You can usually spot them from far away; they’re the ones standing in the doorway of the train, blocking anyone else from getting on. Or they’re pushing the women, children and the elderly out of the way just because they’re walking a tad slower on the icy sidewalks. The other day, in H&M, a high-ranking member of the club took a shirt out of Deanna’s (Shane’s sister) hand and walked to the cash desk with it. Took. The. Shirt. Out. Of. Her. Hands. And bought it. This kind of thing would never have happened in Canada. For one thing, would you ever even consider doing such a thing? Of course not. We’re civilized in Canada. Not here though. Every pig for himself. That motto is so obvious in the way the Brits live their everyday lives, you almost expect to see it hung from a sign when you get off the plane at Heathrow.
Living here all these months, I never realized how bad it was. That is, until I went home for Christmas. I noticed a huge difference as soon as I stepped off the plane at Pearson. All of a sudden, people actually moved when you said "excuse me". People waited their turns in the customs and immigration queue. Not one person tried to cut in front of me. But the one place I truly noticed just how different life in England is was the mall. Yes, the mall. I decided to brave the crowds on Boxing Day this year, and went to the big mall in the hood with my girls. And you know what? I didn’t mind the crowds. Even though the mall was packed with people, not one of them was as pushy as the least pushy member of the asshole club in London. Not once did I feel anxious about being in the mall on Boxing Day. There was no reason to be; everyone behaved themselves. People didn’t jump ahead of you in the queue, they got out of your way when you asked to get by, and some of them were even friendly. Compare this with Oxford Street in London: every asshole and his mother is there, and they’re all going to the same place. They push, they shove, they swear, they sneer. Say "excuse me" and they pretend to be deaf.
Assholes.
When I got back to London after spending 10 heavenly days in the civilized country, I encountered the rudeness immediately. I was waiting my turn in the European Union customs line, and three (THREE!) people cut in front of me, while I was standing in front of the desk. I started to swear pretty loudly, and my outburst was met with horrified stares. I guess it’s just expected that everyone behaves like an asshole, but it’s against the rules to speak out like an asshole.
I don’t get this place.
On another note, I would like to say thanks to those of you who contributed to the Bomba/Dingman care package. You guys are so fantastic. Words cannot express the joy we felt at opening it, and finding so many goodies from home. Tears came to my eyes when I saw the fudge and Tim Hortons coffee. Dingman drooled all over his magazines, and we’re currently fighting over whose stuff the Simpsons dvds gets stored with. I am sending pics of my visit back home to Mama Fazari, and they should arrive within 10 days or so.
Warning, cheesy content ahead: Seeing my nearest and dearest (with the exception of Mr. Smashee) this Christmas was the best present I could have asked for. Thank you all for being so great. I miss you all already, and can’t wait to come home this summer.
S.
