Epic Battle of Cultural Neuroses

The other day I purchased a battery powered, hands-free soap pump. I had sneered at these in derision only weeks ago because I thought they were overpriced, faux-tech gizmos. Then, I needed a new hand soap container.

Yes, I know I can get a cheap Softsoap pump with soap in it. But they’re small, and we are big hand washers in our house. Even with extra large soap containers, I have to refill them once a week. (Remember my ethnic background is Dutch. Even the Pilgrims when they were living in Leiden said, “The Dutch clean things before they’re dirty.”) So, while I’m cooking, I wash my hands numerous times, especially with chicken. Cal thinks I’m a bit neurotic—he’s wrong. And as proof of this fact, no one in our house has ever had food poisoning.

The other problem is the extra large soap pumps break easily. So I found myself at WalMart (ugh) pricing new pumps. The price of a massive pump and hands-free pump were the same. So, of course, I bought the hands-free—no more pressing the pump with my elbow to avoid getting raw chicken liquids on the pump.

Everything was going along swimmingly. Until the hands-free pump got some water spots. I tried to clean it. And it dispensed soap all over me and itself.

Very carefully, I wiped the extra soap and water spots. And it dispensed soap again. At this point, Cal burst into laughter. What would win in my battle with the soap container—the need to be clean or the need to be thrifty. Cal settled in for the epic battle of cultural neuroses (it’s not neurotic though, just saying).

But then, to Cal’s chagrin, Ariel said, “Hey, just turn off the switch, and you can clean it.” So, I did. Of course, I should’ve known. I turned on the switch to begin with. 

Here's a photo. I got it for $6 at WalMart. Soap was extra.

Bad Is the New Good

The other day my daughter said, “Oh, mom, you’ve got to watch this You-Tube video!” So, she played it. I frowned. The singer sang in an off-key monotone about the order of the days of the week.

I said, “Um, I don’t like this. At all.”

Daughter said, “Yeah.”

Me, with a very confused look: “Why are we watching this?”

Daughter, laughing: “It used to be the most disliked music video on YouTube.”

Me, feeling sorry for the poor girl who recorded the song: “We’re watching this because it’s so bad?!”

Daughter: “Yeah. Apparently, she’s making a lot of money.”

Me: “Money? How is that possible?”

Daughter: “Not everyone hates it. And they buy it.”

Me, incredulous: and speechless...

Daughter: “Or people that hate it—buy it. There's a distinct possibility that she made it bad on purpose so she could get lots of attention for the song.”

So that’s where we’re at…being really bad at something is a way to be cool? And it’s a great way to make money. (This seems to be a trend lately...I could mention a certain book that’s very, very popular, which I’ve been told is horrid, but I won't because that would be giving it more publicity.)

And here I was trying to write well. Maybe I need to rethink that. Or not.

Virtues and Vices

My daughter is studying French at the university she attends. She’s taking it for fun since she needs some extra units. Since she studied in high school for three years, she’s also hoping that it will also be an easy A.

One of the things she likes about the class is her instructor’s focus on cultural differences. (Since we’ve lived in several different places, we’ve experienced many taboos the hard way—breaking them by accident.)

Her professor has talked about living in Paris, about her homesickness, which resulted in overeating, and about a Parisian friend’s response. When she saw this friend after her bout of homesickness, the friend said, “Tu es grosse. Ca va?” Which in English is “You’re fat. How are you?” Of course, Ariel’s American prof nearly burst into tears. Later, she realized her friend wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings. It was just frank. (France was peopled by the Franks.) It was honest. As the prof admitted, it wasn’t like she could hide her larger size. And it did motivate her to do something about it.

One of the cultural virtues of the South, in which they take great pride, is politeness. The other day I was very impressed by it. A little old lady had stopped her car in the middle of the road. None of the ten cars lined up behind her (through an intersection) could get around her. But through the multiple lights, no one honked. Finally, a woman got out of her car and walked to the old lady’s car to see what was up. (I was traveling in the other direction and could see that nothing was up—the woman was staring around herself—either an Alzheimer’s situation or something worse. I felt very pleased that no one was making the situation worse by selfish honking. Score one for politeness virtues.

However, sometimes virtues become vices. The same day I was driving home and a light turned red. Cars stopped and waited. The light turned green. The car in the front didn’t move. And it didn’t move. At first, I thought, “Oh, some poor person killed their car or has car problems.” Until I realized that the person was texting—this was pretty apparent because it could be seen through the window. And still no one honked their horn. Twelve cars waited and waited. I finally honked, and the person looked up, put their phone down, and the light turned red. ACK!

So I’m learning patience, not one of my virtues. But I’m still honking when someone rudely makes twelve cars wait until they finish texting. 

Oops. Breaking Cultural Laws

A few weeks ago, I was shopping at Costco and had a different cashier. She said, “Good morning.” I said, “Where are you from?” I’d heard the distinctive New England twang. Too twangy for Connecticut, not twangy enough for Maine, not hard enough for Boston, and not Rhode Island-y. She was from central Massachusetts. I told her that we moved here from Connecticut. I became her new friend. Every week, I wave and she waves. She tells me about her kids, and I tell her about mine. She gives me a good dousing of New England wit and bite, even if it zings me. It makes me laugh.

Her co-workers don’t laugh. When they interact with her, they give her the steely-eyed gaze. I cringe when I imagine their interactions. New Englanders pride themselves on telling the unvarnished truth, no matter who it hurts. They believe anything else is a lie. Southerners pride themselves on polite kindness, even if it isn’t the truth because you don’t want to “be ugly.” (But you can talk about it to others later, as long as you say, “Bless her/his heart.”)

It’s curious to me, having lived all over the US (Southern and Northern CA, GA, IL, HI, CT, TN) how bound people are by their cultural upbringing. How breaking these cultural values become the great sins. And, of course, it’s true outside of the US. One thing my husband had to get used to was that Dutch culture reveres birthdays. On her birthday, my grandmother sits next to the phone all day with a pad of paper and pen in hand. When you call to wish her a happy birthday, she will let you know that you are caller #16 or whatever. Then she will proceed to tell you who has called. And heaven forbid you should forget to call, which is why I listen to my grandmother read the list of everyone who has called her and then call to remind those who haven’t called to call before the day is over.

And then there’s the kissing thing. Dutch relatives kiss each other on the lips, regardless of sex or age. I made the mistake of doing this to my father-in-law by accident. Not good. And very hard to explain your way out of. Then there was my husband’s experience with my relatives’ kisses. He learned to wait to the last second to turn his face, so the kiss would end up on the cheek. And then there was my Chinese sister-in-law, who I thought would have cardiac arrest, when my uncle came at her for a kiss. I learned to stand next to her and do kiss-interception.

What weird cultural/ethnic oddities did you grow up with? Or which ones have you broken by mistake in a new culture? And what was the response? I’ve had people back away slowly as if I was a time bomb waiting to explode.

N.B. For those of you waiting for Screwing Up Time for Nook, it’s still not available. Once again, Barnes & Noble PubIt employees have not come through on their promises. So I have to call them again. Heavy sigh.