A Semester Abroad




I’ve always wanted to spend a semester abroad. The excitement of being in a place where, if murder was legal, you as a tourist would be the first. But I wouldn’t just be a tourist, I’d be a student. I’d be classy, and smart, and know my way around wherever the hell I go. I’d like to go to the U.K. among others. I imagined my semester in Britain would go something like this. My plane touches down. Excitement, surprise, the strong urge to piss. I find my dorm. When I get there everyone says hi and ask how my flight is. Which is funny, because I don’t know any of them. Like at all. So after everyone in London takes turns greeting me I go to sleep. I dreamed the plot of Harry Potter, but with Ron and Hermione replaced with singing toads. I guess England has that effect on you. Spend the morning in bed thinking that wow, I’m in England, in an English bed, in an English room in my neighbor Todd’s room to be exact. Which is strange because Todd is on safari. I spent the afternoon asking random people on the street if they knew Winston Churchill. I spent the day after that in the hospital getting a double-decker bus removed from my chest. The infamous English weather strikes again, bravely defending England from fun and happiness. It was cloudy and rainy. But the day after that it only rained in the morning, noon, afternoon, and early evening. We got the whole late evening without rain! I learned some English slang phrases, like the “tube.” Based on my careful observations the “tube” is some sort of omnipotent maze of tunnels resembling our subways. The walkways are designed to be just too small or just too tall. The “tube” is very good at getting people to the exact opposite of the location they wanted to go. I went to see Big Ben, and ended up in Nigeria. Don’t ask me how. I visited the Imperial War Museum and imagined what it must’ve been like living then, with the rations, and the German raids, and the threat of invasion. They say that it was British tenacity that kept the Germans from invading but I think it was the British women that kept the Germans from invading. They say that English food is all fish and chips and beef but it’s better. They’ve recently learned how to boil water. There are a lot of Indian immigrants that influence British culture, but some Britons complain that they’re stealing their jobs. Nuts. I’d rather have good chicken tikka masala than a job. The English are open-minded, except for the ones who aren’t. They make it seem like England is a country where you can be profiled, but with “cultural dignity.” A lot of Brits ask me about my accent, if all Americans talk like me, and if I think their accents are cute. I wonder why the American girls think British accents are cute and British girls think American accents are cute. We clearly each have something the other wants so it’s a wonder we don’t export American accents. There’s a lot of nice country-side, but the people who live there can be a bit backwards. For example, they ask me if World War Two’s over yet. I love listening to the BBC to relax. They have great programs and a lot of good music channels. I listen to one before I go to sleep, they just play this beautiful song over and over. It sounds like white noise and the music video is just the words “Channel Error Channel Error.” I took the channel tunnel, the chunnel if you will, and if you won’t, then the channel tunnel. I toured a bit of france and spent a weekend in Paris. It’s interesting to see how the Parisians live and I try to impersonate them. I’ve gotten so good at it that I’ve been mistaken for a Parisian twice. By a blind man. I went back to England and discovered there was some strange mail at my rented flat. There was some papers from a university saying that I had to go to classes while I was in England. Well, whatever. I decide to go back to the States. On English flights they have three classes: Good, best and better. On American flights we have First class, business, and hitchhiker. Well England was bundles of fun, and I don’t think I’ll ever come back.

(Disclaimer: This story was written by a certified moron who’s never been to Britain, and doesn’t know anyone worth mentioning from England. If this offended you, that’s cool.)