3 Crazy Things to Avoid Being the Ugly American

When you’re a foreigner, it’s natural to feel that you’re always being judged — not just personally, but judged on how your nationality reacts in a given situation. I find myself doing crazy things just to avoid being the ugly American.

1. Avoid Being the Ugly American – the Perfect Tenant

As we were moving out of our flat and cleaning up before turning the keys over to the landlord, it occurred to me that I was cleaning with a frenzy that bears little resemblance to my somewhat laid back approach to housekeeping. When my late mother-in-law paid her first visit to our new home, she asked how to clean under the burners as we were tidying up after dinner one night. I had to fess up and say that I had no idea!

 

So as I scooted around the floor on my bum, mopping under the cabinets in our bathroom and drying the tile so there wouldn’t be mineral spots left by the water. I knew that I was doing more than was natural for me. I realized that I hadn’t turned into a cleaning machine just to be assured of getting our deposit back. I was doing it for you, my fellow Americans. I was doing it for us. So that at least one Polish family would say Americans are a tidy lot, despite the popularity of American TV shows like Hoarders: Buried Alive on Polish TLC. I also made a trip to IKEA to replace a few things that had been broken in the kitchen during the five years that we lived there, replace the cutting boards, etc. It might have been more than was called for, but it made an impression on them. As far as our landlords are concerned, we’re a responsible, generous nation, not looking to take advantage of anyone. . . you can thank me later.

2. Avoid Being the Ugly American – the Perfect Customer

As I come around to this line of thinking, I can also see a change in my behavior as a customer. I think it’s an American pastime to evaluate service. We sometimes spend more time thinking about the service when we’re dining out than enjoying the meal and our companions. My friend, Rob, is the owner-chef (James Beard semi-finalist, I might add) of The Curious Kumquat, a small restaurant in Silver City, New Mexico. One of the things I have heard Rob lament on facebook is that people fail to register their complaints in person and on the spot, especially when dealing with small businesses, like his restaurant. He would much rather a customer tell him what is wrong and give him a chance to fix it, to make amends, rather than bash him in an online review after telling him everything was fine. I try to follow Rob’s suggestion, but not in Poland.

After gently pointing out short-comings in a meal, from foreign objects found in the food to a meal that is inedible, the response from servers has ranged from “it’s not my fault” to “I didn’t cook it.” At dinner the other night, my friends, Polish and Dutch, said that if you don’t teach them how it should be, they’ll never learn. I beg to differ.

I’ve realized that pointing out the flaws just makes me a complaining American. If the owner of the business was interested in my feedback and making improvements to the business, they would train their staff in how to graciously receive and convey these comments. I’ve seen from Ed’s work with the Polish military that information doesn’t travel up the chain of command in Poland. Why would a waiter carry complains back to the chef or owner if it might cost them their job? They are paid to take orders and carry plates. That’s what they do. So like any good American, I vote with my dollars (zloty) and feel OK about leaving an objective review online.

3. Avoid Being the Ugly American – the Perfect Patient

The third and final (for this post anyway) thing I’ve done in an effort to represent myself, our family, and our part of the world in a positive light came about while Ed was in the hospital. I was staying in the hospital room, and they served us both three meals everyday. The midday meal was huge and freshly cooked, not institutional food at all. Breakfast and supper always consisted of a slice of cheese, two slices of deli meat and six slices of somewhat stale sandwich bread. Besides being boring after the third day, it was way more bread than we wanted to eat, but we didn’t want to leave it on the plate and appear to be picky eaters.

Think I’m overreacting? When I started bringing in takeaway meals of steak and shrimp when Ed’s hemoglobin count was very low, the doctor said to me, “what’s wrong with the food here?” So rather than waste 20 slices of bread everyday between us, we wrapped them up and hid them in a drawer. When I went out, I smuggled the bread out in a shopping bag, leaving them in places where I’ve seen people searching for food. Looking back on it now, it seem ridiculous, but it made perfect sense at the time.

It Works Both Ways

I used a taxi to take Benson to his groomer appointment today because my knee has been bothering me enough lately that I’m walking with a cane. You know this judging an entire nation by the actions of a stranger works the other way too. My Polish friends and acquaintances all stand on their own merit, but today, and hopefully just for today, my perception of Poles I don’t know is colored just a bit by the taxi driver that refused to bring Benson and me from his groomer appointment back to the hotel. “No dogs!” were his words to me as he drove away leaving me standing in freezing weather with a dying cell phone battery. When the next taxi I called didn’t show after 25 minutes, we hobbled off to the tram stop. I think I’m ready to leave now.