A Brit abroad reflects on his year in the United States

Nine months and too many lost matches of a pingpong-based game later, here I am, on the brink of returning to the Motherland. So it seems only apt to take a moment to seriously reflect on what I’ve learned, as a British exchange student, here in your gloriously oversized country. And what better way of doing it than through an easy-to-follow, numbered list; I don’t want to lose any of you simple-minded ’Muricans with my smart, paragraph-structured British ways.

1. Existential food crisis

Your food is ridiculous. It’s ridiculously good and ridiculously bad, all at the same time. I love and despise the indulgence of it. I feel constantly torn between pleasure and guilt. As a result, having a meal in your country often leaves me in a state of existential crisis and eventual meltdown. But in the best possible way imaginable — with a side of fries.

2. Gym is a religion

I suppose it makes sense, concerning the whole food thing, but I’m dumbfounded by your obsession to work out. At times, it seems as though if you were to miss a scheduled session, then the God of Gym — who I imagine looks, sounds and smells a lot like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson — will smite you with his lightning-bolt-shooting dumbbell.

3. Dancing, apparently, equates to clothed fornication

My first genuine culture shock in America came two weeks into my arrival. I was in the middle of my very first fraternity party — an aspect of U.S. college culture I had been exposed to many times on the screen, but never in reality — when a pleasant young lady started chatting to me.

She was intrigued by my accent, but refreshingly wasn’t bombarding me with questions. I commented on how noisy and sweaty the party was, to which she laughed innocently. Then, she asked if I wanted to dance.

I should preface this next part by explaining that my idea of dancing mainly involves busting out some ironic, retro moves — notably the running man, the robot and the arm thing from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video. Naturally, I wasn’t prepared for what followed.

So my newly recruited dance partner led me to the designated area. Then it began. She leaned forward, pressed her derriere against my crotch, and then there was some kind of movement. Grinding, rotating, side-to-siding. I didn’t know what was happening. I looked around me,and found the majority of the room also practicing this pagan ritual of which I had unwittingly stumbled into. I quickly disengaged myself, explaining what my idea of dancing was, and that what we were doing was most definitely illegal in most countries. She looked bemused and walked away. I quickly left the building to get some fresh air and assess what had just happened to me.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t dancing.

4. You’re a nation of anglophiles

Before I embarked on my voyage aboard the Mayflower, I was persistently informed, “They’re going to love you over there!” by various strangers whose names I didn’t know. This speculative assumption wasn’t based upon my charming misanthropy or whimsical pessimism. Instead, it was based upon the geographical location of my birthplace.

Oddly enough, for the most part, they were right. Now, “love” is a pretty strong word, but during my time here, being British has made me feel somewhat special. On countless occasions, I’ve been treated as though I were a (distantly related) member of the royal family, or, better still, an extra in one of the Harry Potter movies. My ability to make people (literally) melt, just by uttering a seemingly innocuous sentence, simultaneously confounded me and enlarged my ego.

My accidental Britishness even landed me a job here at The Pitt News, which I imagine is a result of assumed wit on the part of my editors. The general belief that my IQ is higher due solely to my accent is definitely one of the more agreeable cultural prejudices out there. So thank you America for judging me before getting to know me. And I sincerely mean that.

5. We’re not so different, you and I

To end this on a quasi-sentimental note, the ultimate lesson I’m taking back to good ol’ Blighty is that these are all very trivial and superficial differences. I’ve met real people here. People who, regardless of their protestations, are now my true friends. For some bizarre reason, this surprised me. I saw myself as a visitor, a tourist, an observer casually drifting through your culture, waiting to inform all my fellow countrymen of your alien ways. Oh, how we would have laughed.

But instead, I’m returning home genuinely saddened that I must leave. You’ve embraced me, and I have, a little reluctantly at first, reciprocated. So thank you, Pitt. I hope you treat all of your future guests with equal generosity and nationality-based bias.

Write to Dylan at dma51@pitt.edu.