For all my ranting and raving on tolerance and acceptance, I will admit that I am probably a tad prejudice towards Americans. I just can’t help it. I can’t help that they speak in twelve decibels too loud. I can’t help that they don’t know anything about their bordering countries, and I can’t help they are always asking for directions here in Amsterdam, and then storming away without so much as a simple “thank you”.
I think I will blame it on Canada. Why not, after all didn’t the 911 terrorists come through Canada?! (For those of you who know me well, you will know that this is one of my favorite ignorant statements). I will blame it on the “little brother syndrome”, the “(smaller) rival country complex”, found between the US and Canada, Holland and Germany, Holland and Belgium and of course, Australia and New Zealand.
So, on my supposedly peaceful train ride to Paris I again encounter by favorite breed of American ---the loud-middle aged- fanny pack wearing- tourist from hell. Now I must interrupt my story before I even start this awful rant of mine. Please no offense, I will admit that the woman described in this story could have equally been a Canadian, and that there are many “ugly Canadian tourists” out there as well. But this story wouldn’t be that funny if it was about a Canuk, would it?
So anyways, I am thoroughly enjoying my complimentary breakfast in first class, when I am interrupted by a very loud “Excuse me ma’am”. In front of me decked out in runners, shorts, a hard-rock Hawaii t-shirt (no lie), and fanny pack, is my worst nightmare. “You’re in myyy seat!” I take out my ticket and check my seat again. Hard-rock Hawaii is staring back at me, annoyed with my silence. She says louder than necessary “Please get out of myyy seat!!”. I show her my ticket and just my luck it turns out that the train has overbooked us and we are in fact both entitled to this seat.
The problem isn’t that we have the same seat. The problem is that somehow this woman feels as though she is more entitled to this seat than I am. She has the nerve to ask me to leave since she “booked this seat ages ago in (unknown small town USA)”. Reverting back to my 5 year old self, I refuse to get up. I refuse to leave my seat, and I refuse to discuss the situation any further. In fact, I stare forward and instead think happy thoughts. Something about this woman in really irking me. Is it her florescent t-shirt, circa 1990, scorching my eyeballs, or the fact that she insists on speaking in a volume that is unacceptable by all social standards. She eventually storms off and I am very pleased by my small victory.
Canada 1 point, US 0!
