reflectionsontheusa

Reflections on the USA

This was written during a holiday in the USA, to be followed by Japan, in 2005

There would not be a single person out there who wouldn’t say that at some point in their lives, they’d love to see the USA. It’s such a culturally dominant force throughout the world that everyone’s heard about it. The sheer hype that surrounds it from a distance fascinates all, and it doesn’t diminish when you get here. Americans really live their own hype - you land here, and you’re suddenly going “Hey, it’s actually REAL!” Everything you’ve heard about it is true, and that fact in and of itself is ever so unbelievable, however astounding.

And yet… there’s something lacking. Something just feels like it’s not there, something that unites the people under one cultural identity. From a different perspective, you could say that this reflects the diversity of the American dream, the ability for people to live their lives according to their freedoms - but it sounds hollow. There’s a distinct feeling of disconnection for people moving from region to region - and region doesn’t mean something large like “the South” or even state size, it’s more the broadly defined groupings that people can easily identify - I’m talking about whole neighbourhoods and suburbs that are clearly marked by people’s preconceptions, however correct they may be. Blacks, Hispanics, Whites, Chinese, whatever socioeconomic-racial-territorial groups you want to name, they’re distinct. It’s as though the upper class is moving into a world of their very own, the middle class aspires to reach for this world while distancing themselves from the lower class, which struggles to eke out a living. I felt saddened by the classism I witnessed in India, but Americans abstract it that much more and divorce the feeling from the hope that a cohesive cultural idenity provides. You get the very distinct feeling that communities exist largely independent of each other, and interaction between them only occurs on necessities. The nation may be United, but it feels like a union of convenience. Disillusioning.

Life, But Not As We Know It

I don’t know if it’s a cause of America’s recent recession/flat economic conditions, neglect, complaceny, uncontrollable factors, or simply that That’s Just The Way Things Are, but America feels slightly… old and tired. It doesn’t have that crisp feel to it you see in the movies/pictures/news reports/anecdotes. It just hangs about at the edge of your concious - America isn’t new in the way that, say, Australia is - which might be a surprise. Australia feels surprisingly fresh and young in comparison to even the newest neighbourhoods here do. I’ve never got the feeling of age from any of the other places I’ve been - sure, India is old and dirty, but America feels like it was new once, but no-one’s bothered to maintain it. It’s run down, it’s dilapidated - and no-one seems to care.

For example, take the roads - they’re wide and extensive, but they’re really not up to any standard you’d expect as a minimum in Australia. While there’s always the excuse that snow is a factor over on the East coast, what’s the excuse on the West coast? They’re better, sure, but they’re frayed at the edges. The East coast’s roads are that bad that one wonders whether it would be better in India. And the drivers don’t help - the safest, sanest drivers I’ve encountered yet is a 70 year old man and an 18 year old girl with a freshly minted license. I haven’t felt this disturbed by the road conditions since India, and while it’s not that bad (plus I actually fit into the cars here, unlike India) it’s something that bugs me. I want to shout “Why don’t you follow the goddamed road laws?” but I can’t - they’d look at me like I was crazy. It’s like the Americans are so self absorbed in their own lives that they don’t care for the world around them, so long as it doesn’t cause inconvenience to them.

New York is where I’ve had the most time, and it feels mindbogglingly large as an urban area. It’s beautiful to see the little pockets of green, and obviously Central Park plonks itself down in the middle and breaks the whole thing up, but there’s still so much of New York it feels almost… opressive. And yet at the same time filled with all these wonderful opportunities. Also, comparing it to Melbourne or Sydney, it feels a little “ghetto”, to use the local parlance. Cracks in the sidewalk with weeds showing through, the graffiti, the litter - it feels run down. At the same time, with construction everywhere, the bajillions of people intent on their own tasks - it feels like this city is always renewing itself, it’s always on the move somewhere, busybusybusy. You can feed off that buzz if you just spend 5 minutes in Times Square watching people go about their business - you’ll have a smile on your face before long.

The biggest thing that bugs me here is the tipping. With 15% considered “customary”, if not compulsory (my word =P), for service industry workers, why is it that it is considered something seperate? The whole point, from my point of view, is that you should be tipping for exceptional service, not what you might call expected service. When I’m paying for a slice of pizza, I’m not just paying material costs - I’m paying for the time I’m sitting there, I’m paying for the electricity used, I’m paying for whatever is used to create it, I’m paying for the chef’s expertise (or lack thereof), so why is it thought that I’m not paying for the waiter(ess) to bring it to me? One argument provided is that the service will be better because they’re dependent on your dollar. I don’t know if it’s the people, the places I went, or the time I went, but service was never ever exceptional - on three occasions, I would have ranked it acceptable to good. On nearly all other occasions, it was subpar, with waiters ignoring requests, and generally conveying an unfriendly attitude. And where tips aren’t part of the equation, it was even worse - McDonald’s had glum, dull-faced people behind the counter. I almost didn’t want to order there.

I compare and contrast this with Australia, and suddenly I’m wondering why I don’t tip more often - I’ve tipped when I thought it worthwhile, but you suddenly realise here those people go the extra mile to help you enjoy your meal. Here, you look at the bill, double the tax (which is almost never! included in the stated price, making purchase prices unpredictable) and leave it as the tip. That’s not tipping, that’s unbilled price. Why not just include it and leave tipping on the side for those who really do go the extra mile?

It’s weird to think now that there were claims that we were becoming Americanised. If that’s true, we’ve still got a long way to go as Australians.

Dancing With You in the Summer Rain

On a lighter note, the little difference bug me =) Showers with no pressure control (”You can have pressue or spread, but not both.”) Taps that turn the wrong way. Switches that flip the wrong way. Driving on the wrong other side of the road. The use of stupid imperial units - A mile is a good 30% too long, a Farenheit is a good 50% too fine and completely meaningless when it comes to corresponding to anything that matters, a gallon is stupidly large measure of volume, a pound or an ounce (of fluid) is much too small to mean anything, a yard is just a little too short - these are things you grow up with, and I’m not being critical of them as measures, since they clearly work (somehow). It’s just these quirky little things that get to you.

And the money! One things the Americans started out doing right, and then completely messed up. lex, pardon me, I hafta bitch about this again. You really don’t apreciate the clear way Australian currency is designed until you encounter foreign currency. Go on Australians, pull your wallet/purse/money-carrying-device out and spread some of the world’s best currency out in front of you.

Doesn’t look “the best”, does it?

Think of it again. The notes are slightly different lengths. They’re all different colours. They’re durable plastic. They have their value clearly written on them in unmistakable ways. And have a look at some of the coins you’ve pulled out - how are they they best? But imagine a 5 cent coin that was larger and weighed more than a 10 cent coin. Imagine a 50 cent smaller than a 25 cent coin. Imagine having to deal with one cent coins again. Imagine calling 1 cent a penny, 5 cents a nickel, 10 cents a dime, 25 cents a quarter and neither of these coins having their value written on them clearly in numerals. Imagine having to deal with one dollar notes as well as coins. Imagine having your change for $5.58 from a $10 note handed to you as four $1 notes, a quarter dollar, a dime, a nickel and two pennies. Tell me you wouldn’t be buggin’ out.

What little I’ve encountered of Yen so far tells me the notes will be just as hard to differentiate as here, but the coins should be a whole lot easier because they are actually different looking and have real Numbers on them (hear that America? sheesh).

There’s hope yet

Oh it’s not all bad. Americans are a friendly people, all up. And they’re amusing, too, because suddenly you realise all those riotous stereotypes really do exist. Valley Girls really do talk like that. New Yorkers really are off their nut. Southerners really do ooze that easy, relaxed enthusiasm. Black people really are all dat, and a whole pile more. Hispanics are really something so far out of an Australian’s experience, they’re indefinable. Trailer trash really do exist. Brooklyn goils are just that. You just want them all to turn into cute adorable puppies.

Their attitudes are infectious, and you find yourself picking up little cues without realising it. You catch yourself using their slang, you see yourself viewing things in ways you didn’t quite think of before. You watch astounded as a morbidly obese woman orders a litre and half of diet pepsi, saying “I gotta watch mah figah.” You stand back dumbfounded at the 27 varieties of soft drink available in a supermarket. You feel lost in an English speaking country because you’re surrounded by Spanish speakers. You walk down the street and see people from a hundred nations walking the other way. Cultures mix and mingle with ease, but always keep their distance. You watch as the lights twinkle on with the setting of the sun. You try to count the cars streaming past at midnight. You laugh at the quaint picket fences that actually line suburban streets. You wonder in amazement how someone squeezed that giant 4WD into that car park spot. You laugh at the jokes of far-distant relatives you’ve only met for the first time some 30 minutes ago, noting how they’re just like people back home.

It’s something you really have to do for yourself, someday. Make sure you do.