It was the summer of 1985, and the sun was shining waaaay more over here in the US of A, than it ever does in good ol’ Blighty. I already knew about this from hours of watching American movies and shows; The High Chapparal, Soap, The Bionic Woman, Dallas, and Starsky and Hutch (say what you like girls, Starsky was the cutest). So although born and raised in England I knew too that America was all shiny and glittery, and happy gosh darn it, just so many big white teeth! I knew that everyone was beautiful and drove boat-sized cars at 50 mph on the freeway. And that America was big. Bloody big.
It was thrilling to find that America was exactly as portrayed in the movies and tv shows, on the surface at least, and that is all I really scratched that summer. I was here on a British Universities’ North America Club (B.U.N.A.C) program, Work America. With my passport, and J1 visa safely in my money belt, I was ready to take on the adventure of a lifetime. We were heading to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina where we had secured jobs as hostesses and waitresses at Pizza Hut, we being myself and two uni (college) friends, Jo and Gwyn. But our first stop was New York, New York and I couldn’t believe I was actually there. New York! Belta! (nod to the Geordies among us).
We landed at JFK airport and spent a night at the YMCA on 34th Street, from where we ventured out to behold the magnificent NYC skyline from the top of the Empire State Building (and not the Empire Estate Building. Silly girl). I have a photo of the Twin Towers to prove it. I treasure that.
In New York our little group grew to six. Some fellow students from Bangor University decided to join us; Elaine, Cookie and let’s say Bob. On arrival we had been given the newcomers’ spiel by the YMCA and BUNAC staff…things like don’t turn left out of the building unless you want to be mugged – I still dream I turn left by mistake – and maybe more importantly, don’t forget to take your key with you when you leave your room. Possibly Cookie wasn’t listening. We were very tired after all. Soon after, with only a small towel around his waist, and his washbag, Cookie left his room for the shower down the hall and let the door slam shut behind him. I’m not sure when he realized his mistake but despite his stereotypical politeness, this Brit uttered more than “oh golly gosh”, of that I’m certain. Spare keys were, ooh, about 18 floors down via the public elevator. Surviving that, good ol’ Cookie walked into the busy lobby in a towel barely covering his British bottom. No need to fly to London to see the Crown Jewels that day. What a fantastic start to our adventure! The rest of us thought so anyway. And so onward to South Carolina (SC).
The next day we took a Trailways bus, stopping off at various cities en route. That’s route rhyming with toot, not route rhyming with shout. We gawped at the ludicrously large ‘large’ cokes, we delighted in the strange names of towns and stores, “Piggly Wiggly!” (Jo shouted with her headphones on) and we slept for hours only to find ourselves less than halfway there. Eventually, and unceremoniously – this was America after all – we were dumped out of the bus at Florence in the middle of SC. After 15 hours this was the end of the line. So, what now? I mean, we were students, why would we have a plan? With no planes, trains or buses our only course of action was to rent an automobile. We needed big. We wanted big. And so, we done rented ourselves a station wagon, yeehah! Wow was that thing capacious, veritably voracious. It swallowed the six of us whole, and our backpacks to boot. Or should I say, trunk? And that was when our summer escape really began. This was the Land of the Free and we had our freedom! We were cruising on down the highway in 98F with the theme of Beverly Hills Cop blaring out of the radio, loving every second of it. Oh yes baby, we had arrived! Almost.
It was 90 miles to Myrtle Beach and as soon as we stopped the humidity closed in. What better to cool us down than the Atlantic Ocean? Parking at the first beach lot we found – The Pavillion – we all jumped out. Seconds later six idiotic, tanless Brits were seen running down the sand straight into the sea, fully clothed. Even Cookie. It was fan-bloody-tastic!
And so ensued three months of sun, sunburn, Long Island Iced Tea, pizza, partying, motorbike rides, more pizza, lots of beach time, yada yada yada. If you don’t know what that means you’ve been in the U.S less than a month. Oh, and did I mention boys? Yeah, they were there. All of them in fact. Eat your heart out Fort Lauderdale.
More than any TV show, including Little House on The Prairie which we watched religiously every day at noon, the Beach gave me the impression that America was the Promised Land of the West. In 1985 I fell in love with America as it was then and enjoyed a honeymoon period which lasted a lot longer than the three months we were in SC. I guess I came to idealize the States. Eleven years later my husband and I moved to Michigan, arriving in March in a snowstorm, and I faced the cold reality of a much longer-term relationship with this country, with all its rollercoaster ups and downs; sometimes as exhilarating as the Swamp Fox, and often just as scary. Those of you who have moved here for even just a few years know how tough it can be adjusting to a culture that, because of the media, we think we know, and yet of course, that just ain’t the case. Sting had it right.
The last 28 years have not been all sun and fun and games, that’s for sure, although the US is a great place to play when one actually escapes the hard work. At some point we will journey just a little into that simple philosophy beloved of most Americans, “work hard, play hard” but there is so much else to talk about! For now let me share with you some of the things that Myrtle Beach taught me about the US, hereby introducing some of the “much else”. These are things we Brits all hold as self-evident after even just a few months State Side, and so I leave you with a list thereof, in no particular order:
- Pizza is the staple diet.
- Yada yada yada = blah blah blah.
- ‘Gotta make the bucks’ is a mantra that starts in college and lasts a lifetime.
- Americans think fannies are bottoms. Riiiight.
- If someone from the South asks you if you know how to shag, don’t slap them.
- Sherriff’s cars have lights on the roof the size of buckets.
- Guns. Everywhere.
- One thousand American miles = one hundred British miles.
- Disney World really is full of magic.
- There are 3946 different kinds of breakfast cereal.
- ‘Urricanes ‘ardly ever ‘appen in the Home Counties but manifest with unnerving frequency over here. Did I tell you about Hurricane Bob sweeping through SC in 1985? No, I didn’t. Another time.
- Photo ID and a social security number are needed to do anything. Everything.
- You need to memorize the latter.
- Long Island Iced Tea is an elixir of the most heady kind.
- You need to be 21 to drink Long Island Iced Tea or else you get a public bollocking. By a big scary barman. With a gun.
- If you’re 20 and you want to drink Long Island Iced Tea you need to get your 21-year-old friend to buy it and transport it home in a paper bag, a brown one.
- ‘Hot tea’ is only ever lukewarm.
- Iced tea or coke or any soft drink are really just melted ice with food coloring. Bit of a porky that. But it darn well tastes like it.
- All food consists of 90% sugar. Again, not true. But again, tastes like it.
- People pour syrup all over their sausage and bacon.
- Bacon is devoid of all lean meat. Pour syrup on it.
- You can stuff your face in an all-u-can-eat and it’s just bloody brilliant.
- A scary number of Americans think that they speak English and that English people…don’t.
- There are no old people, anywhere. Soylent Green anyone?
- You can be 400lbs and rock a bikini.
- Children drive cars, legally.
- For many people the American Dream is just a dream.
Oooh I just got serious. It won’t last. Cheerio for now.
Boudicca
Bold and Brilliant Site 