6 Things England Can Learn from America

6. Driving on the right side of the road

Come on, England. Stop trying to be special.

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5. Less CCTV

CCTVs are closed circuit television cameras that the English have decided to wire the entire country with. They are everywhere— campus, underground stations, subways, trains, museums, churches, streets, shops. A police officer told me that in the Birmingham city center (or what Americans call downtown), if I moved 20 feet in any direction, then I would be on a different CCTV camera. Basically, unless I am in my flat with the curtains shut, then I am under recorded surveillance. Civil liberty violation? George Orwell 1984? Does this really not disturb anyone else?

On campus

4. Southwestern Food

England does not contain Southwestern food. Literally, it does not exist within its boarders. This is a problem, because Southwestern food is my favorite food. I can eat Southwestern food every day for lunch and dinner, and I have gone through numerous 3-month spurts over the past five years where I have done exactly that. Does it ever get old? No. Do I ever desire something different? Never.

When I came to England, I naturally planned on continuing my love affair with Southwestern food. So I went to the grocery store to buy the necessary items only to pay for foods of disappointment. I went to restaurants labeling themselves Mexican or Southwestern only to pay for foods of lies. 

Since Southwestern food is not difficult to make and since I do not believe that the English are utterly incompetent, I have come to the conclusion that the necessary ingredients do not exist within the English boarder. Moral of the story: globalization is a myth.

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nom! nom! nom!

3. Thanksgiving
The greatest holiday of the year—a day of thanks, family, friends, rest, and food. Few concepts more beautiful exist in this world.

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cheese!

2 & 1. Water fountains. Believe me; this is worthy of two categories.

The first week here, I feared that I would perish from dehydration before the month ended. I could not find a single water fountain. They were not near the bathrooms or in the hallways like they are in every public building in the United States.

After a few days, I asked a girl where a water fountain was. She directed me to a large fountain in the middle of a courtyard with a mermaid statue jumping out of its center. Not exactly what I was looking for. Undiscouraged, I continued my search, but after a week of not finding even a broken pipe sticking out of a wall, something inconceivable began forming in my mind. After trying to distance myself from the reality-tilting thought for a few days, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Turning to a flat mate, I asked:

“Does England not have water fountains?”

“Water fountains?” she asked, confused.

“Yes, water fountains.” I said, talking faster. “You know, you press a button and water comes out and you drink it.”

“Oh, you mean drinking fountains? I’ve never seen them here. I thought they only existed in American movies and television shows.”

Sucker punched.

As survival dictates, “adapt or die.” So I have adapted, filling my water container in bathroom faucets and discovering the English water machine, which is like a water cooler without the big tub of water on top. But the tale does not end there. Something unexpected, something magnificent occurred this Sunday in London at the British Museum.

While looking at larger-than-life statues extracted from the ancient Greek Parthenon, I received a call.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hello, Anna.” The familiar voice replied. “This is Nature. I’m going to need you to respond to me within the next hour. Okay? Your welcome. Talk to you in a few.”

Bossy as ever. I thought, hanging up.

Thirty minutes later, I followed a sign pointing down a set of stairs to the toilet, and as my foot left the last step and turned the corner, I saw it. Beautiful. Gleaming. Right outside the bathroom entrance. Angel choirs sang and time slowed down. A water fountain. I just stared at it, mesmerized. Slowly, I approached it, reaching out my fingertips to stroke its smooth, shining surface. Then, moving my hand around the nozzle, I pressed the button. Clear liquid shot forth, a perfect arch, softly splashing the surface, pooling in ripples. I lowered my mouth to its stream, cool liquid hitting my lips, and drank.

Afterwards, I wondered since almost everything in the museum is a stolen artifact from another culture, was that water fountain a stolen artifact from the United States? Don’t tell them I touched it.

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