This Side of the Pond

I was explaining to a friend the other day that being English in these parts has turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. The curse comes with the fact that, even now, I find myself using the wrong words or going about things in an unconventional manner and this can sometimes cause confusion that takes a while to properly unravel.

I’ll still ask a grocery store attendant to put my bags in the boot of my car before my brain has a chance to do the translation, for example, and I still won’t open my presents on Christmas Eve (although it might just be my impatient husband who has a problem with this one).

The blessing? Because I’m English, nobody seems surprised when it happens.

In fact, I realized during this conversation with my friend that I am beginning to develop a reputation around town for being “just Sarah”.

In other words, when I say something strange or doing something unexpected, my friends and neighbors are kind enough to immediately dismiss it as just the sort of weird thing I tend to do.

Take, for example, the one and only time I’ve ever been pulled over by law enforcement. This happened a few years ago as I pulled out of an intersection, glanced in my rear view mirror and saw a white truck so close to my rear bumper that the driver was lucky my exhaust hadn’t poked him in the eye.

I couldn’t compute where that truck had come from – I was sure it hadn’t been there when I pulled out. I mean, obviously it was, but to this day I can’t work out how I managed to miss it.

I was so overcome with the shock that it took me several more seconds to observe the truck had lights on it. Red and blue ones. Which were flashing.

Oh right, I thought – it’s a police car.

An achingly slow thought process followed, because I suddenly realized that I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I knew what was expected in theory, but I hadn’t had opportunity to give it a go and I’m frankly not the best at decision-making in stressful situations.

By the time I figured it out, many seconds – and just as many yards – had gone by. I eventually did pull over, still in the throes of panic and now wondering exactly how serious an offense it is to ignore the existence of a police vehicle.

The officer walked towards me, clearly confused as to why he’d just taken part in the least hurried car chase of all time. As he got closer, I realized it was an officer I had known for years – someone who had assisted me in the writing of countless news articles.

Under normal circumstances, obviously this wouldn’t have made a difference as to whether I was in trouble. However, let’s rewind our thoughts to the phenomenon that I began this story by describing.

The officer looked through the window at me. The look of confusion melted clear from his face, replaced by understanding and relief.

What was he thinking? It wasn’t difficult to interpret.

“Oh,” his expression seemed to say. “It’s just Sarah.”

I recounted this experience to my friend because I’d just that moment made another of my English slip-ups. She was in the process of rearranging her office, which had created an empty space on one side of her desk.

I suggested that she could balance out the bookcase on the other side and the squareness of her desk by adorning that corner with a pot plant.

It was the tiny smile on her face that alerted me to my mistake. It was a little different to the one I’d seen on the police officer’s face, but it sent the same message.

I knew I’d done a “just Sarah” and I also knew the exact cause of the confusion because it wasn’t the first time I’d used the wrong term.

In the UK, you see, we don’t use the term “potted plant”. It’s a leafy item that resides in clay housing, therefore it is a plant in a pot, therefore it is a pot plant.

However – and I’m sure I don’t need to point this out – that is not what a pot plant is to an American. As far as my friend was concerned, I had just suggested she adorn her workspace with a cultivated specimen of a controlled substance.

My friend made the joke that she would be mentioning my proclivities to law enforcement at the first available opportunity. I suggested that I would probably get away with it on the basis that almost all our local officers have met me at this point and are already comfortable with my status as the weird local foreigner.

As it happened, there was an officer of the law passing by as we were speaking, and his attention had been attracted first by our laughter and then by the suggestion his help might be needed. Curious, he asked what was going on and why she was planning to report me for my behavior.

My friend explained that I had suggested to her, without prompting and with no sign of guilt or furtiveness, that she should consider growing a pot plant – at her place of work, no less.

I braced, and hoped for the best.

The officer rolled his eyes and turned to walk away.

“Oh,” he said, dismissively waving a hand. “That’s just Sarah.”