Are you alright, lovely?

I love the way the British speak. I don’t mean the accents - although those are fun too – I am talking about the phrases that we don’t have in America. For the first few weeks of work I was paranoid that I sat at my desk with a puzzled/concerned/sad expression on my face because nearly every time anyone walked by they would say “are you alright?” I have since learned, and come to enjoy, that this phrase actually correlates with the American phrase “How are you?” or if you are a hip American you may say “What’s up?”

Another thing I love about the way the British talk is how encouraging every sentence is. While talking on the phone my boss litterly calls everyone “lovely.” Regardless of whether or not the person on the other end of the line is in fact lovely, or whether or not she has even met them, she always says “are alright, lovely?”

The city is hard on shoes, which in turn is hard on me because I love shoes. I walk miles everyday on cemented sidewalks and subway platforms. I am constantly stepped on by people who are taller than me (which is almost everyone) because the sidewalks and tube are so packed. And, it rains constantly so they never truly dry out. I was told by many people to focus on the comfort of the shoe and not the way it looks because of how the city destroys shoes, but I didn’t listen. So today I drug my blistered feel over to the shoe repair man to fix the heels of two pairs of shoes. The cute old man just smiled at me and probably was thinking “stupid American with your fancy shoes.” Then on the two block walk back to my office I noticed nearly a dozen women who had paired their professional business suits with tennis shoes. While they probably don’t have to get their shoes repaired and their feet are more than likely not covered in blisters, I can’t bring myself to create such a fashion fau-paux.

I remember always noticing when my family would take trips to NYC that the locals on the streets had permanent annoyed looks plastered across their faces. The city has just made them cold, I would convince myself. But now, I fear I am becoming one of them. Herds of tourists standing in front of the exit to the tube station with their giant maps blocking me from getting to work. People standing in the middle of the sidewalk taking pictures of churches as if they were the paparazzi. I scoff and think, “ha, I know my way around” and then karma kicks me in the butt and makes me realize that I am nothing more than a tourist as well. I still get lost. I still take the wrong tube. I still eat at the same places because I can’t find the new ones people have recommended to me. I’m still a tourist.