Le cul entre les deux chaises

An American Spaniard in France or: How I Learned to Make an Ass of Myself in Three Cultures


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Another Camper fail

Sigh. Why can’t my full time job be correcting things*? If someone at Camper (or whoever does their not-good marketing) had just asked me to glance at what they were working on, I could have told them that in English, our colas are Diet, never Light.

Camper Light fail

diet coke coca light*This job kind of exists in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel where Judi Dench is hired by an Indian call center to school the operators on how to be properly British. I would love doing something like this, especially since my General American accent (that is to say, one which isn’t specific to any region) is highly prized by people who are interested in such things.

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What’chu talkin’ ’bout?

I went to college in Boston, over a thousand miles away from where I grew up. In European terms, the distance is similar to that between Paris and Moscow, which is to say that I was a long way from home.

My very first week, I was paying for a Coke in the dining hall and I asked the cashier if there were free refills on pop. “On what?” he asked. “On pop,” I said. “What?” he said again. “Pop,” I replied more forcefully. “What?” he smirked. “Pop! Pop! You know, like Coke?” I stammered. “Oooooooh, you mean soda,” was his smug retort. “No.”

That guy shamed me in a way I hadn’t experienced before, but he also taught me a lesson. There are language traps everywhere and you’ve got to look out for them lest you fall into one. Any little thing can give you away (if you’re trying to hide something or just assimilate), so it’s important to listen to people around you and adopt their ways if you want to blend in.

The pop v. soda debate is probably the biggest lexical tell in American culture and is actually something that’s studied and argued about. This map shows that I was well within my comfort zone, linguistically, since I’m from the heart of “pop” country.


Interestingly, when telling my new college pals about what had happened in the dining hall, a friend from northern Florida said that he called all carbonated beverages “coke” leading to unusual-sounding drinks orders like, “I’ll have a Dr. Pepper coke.” In the end, he decided he didn’t want to become too Yankee-fied, so he stuck with his coke catchall, but I never called anything pop again.