The Dreaded Question

Even though I have been in London for almost three weeks, I meet new people every day. When I meet these strangers, we exchange answers to a few standard questions in our first conversation--what's your name, how old are you, where do you go to school, what do you study, where are you living, and finally, the dreaded question, where are you from?

With fellow Americans, this question is easy. We trade the names of cities and then play the name-game suggesting people the other person might know. Usually that fails but it is still entertaining. With foreigners (and by foreigners, I mean foreign to me, because technically I am a foreigner here in London), I try to ask the question first, mostly because I am curious and haven't quite developed the accent-detection-and-origin-determination skill...yet. Anyway, the stranger tells me they are from another European country, somewhere in Asia, or a British city that I have never heard of and then I pretend to know where it is by nodding and saying 'ohhh great' so I don't seem ignorant. Then my new acquaintance reciprocates and asks me where I am from.

There are a couple of ways to answer this question and it depends on a variety of factors such as success of earlier conversation, their understanding of English, and their probability of being a communist. The safest and most basic way to answer is to say 'USA' or 'the States'. Sometimes they already know I'm from the US and ask where in the States I am from, in which case I respond sarcastically, 'how did you guess?'. If the other person seems fun and our conversation is going well, I might even joke and say in my best redneck voice 'good old amurrica' (this is rare). So at this point, the conversation goes one of two ways. The person smiles and says great and we continue talking. This is the preferred result. 

The other option: the person makes a face, usually a scowl, grimace, or glare, and finds an excuse to exit the conversation. I have only had to face this a few times, but I find these situations more ridiculous than offensive. And I usually laugh about them a few minutes later. 

Example 1- I was in an elevator with another student from my building. We shared the usual elevator pleasantries relating to our studies and the weather and then he asked me where I was from. I told him 'the States', and he literally said, "Oh, then I guess I can't be talking to you" and went silent. He then neglected the ladies first rule when we got out of the elevator and as we walked outside he immediately crossed to the other side of the street. Rude. I've seen him a few times since and he barely acknowledges me, but I think he might feel a slight twinge of guilt. 

Example 2- I was at our Athletic Union night, and a random guy came up to me to ask my name and where I was from. Over the loud music, I yelled, 'the States!'. He literally said, "Oh, I thought you were pretty until you said that", and walked away. Well mister, I never thought you were pretty. 

Bottom line: The dilemma of revealing my nationality affects my life every day. Whenever I open my mouth to a person from another country, I am susceptible to their snap judgments. I can only hope that they look at me and say, 'she doesn't really look like an impolite, McDonalds-fiending, gun-toting, mentally insane person'. Thank goodness Americans like other Americans here. British people are generally accepting of kids like me in their midst. Others are totally indifferent. Unfortunately, I've learned that some people are raised to hate the United States and any of its offspring. Maybe I should just say I am from Canada.