There is a quality I absolutely love in Americans, one I feel is lacking in my Motherland. I experienced this phenomenon the moment I stepped off my plane in Phoenix, and it hasn't eased up since. Every movement I make which involves interaction with another human provokes what I can only describe as the "Have-A-Nice-Day Reaction," otherwise recognized as an ability to make a perfect stranger feel like they've made a new friend. I feel this message needs to be explained, not initially to your European cohorts, but to your wildlife. Let me digress.
I set off to see the wonders of California's coastline with my boyfriend last weekend. Having come to terms with the fact that some of the deadliest creepy crawlies live in my Tempe back-garden, I thought I was well prepared for whatever critters decided to cross my path in pastures new. As the sun set on a cloudy and moonless sky, our only light was the warm glow of the campfire and my marshmallows, which occasionally set alight from over-excited toasting. No problem, I chuckled to myself, why would I need to see more than two inches in front of my face? And that was when they came...
During my blissful ignorance a thing crept up to our table and attempted to scoff the ramen noodles cooking on our stove. Its howl of pain which sounded like the noise a pig-dog would make (just use your imagination), sent images of werewolves racing through my otherwise paralyzed mind. To put it bluntly, I nearly wet myself. My boyfriend leapt into action and whilst shielding me from the gruesome beast, shone the torch where we thought its face would be, only to see a fat raccoon waddle up a tree.
And that set up the general theme for the rest of the weekend; me crapping myself "Blair Witch" style as we were terrorized by various fluffy woodland creatures. Because it didn't stop at the raccoons.
I thought the mornings would be safer. Such a fool. Alfred Hitchcock would have been proud of the courage of California's plucky little birds. They descended on us in squawking droves as we munched on our granola, and no amount of arm flapping would stop them glaring at us with their mad, beady eyes. That was their tree we were sitting under. So we relocated to the cliff-top for peace and solace. Until a squirrel ran up my arm and took a bite of my donut. I couldn't move by that point. My nerves were rattled, and I had the shakes from the adrenaline pumping through my veins without relent during the three, horror-filled days under canvas.
Yet, by the end of the weekend I had named the cuddly terrorists and even grown quite fond of them, despite my aversion to being so close to disease. You see, the point I'm getting at is that they seemed perfectly at place in a land where people aren't too shy to interact with absolute strangers. And even though it stands in contrast to my cultural norms, I felt the warm glow of knowing somebody cares that I graced their personal space; whether it's over my trash bag, or a Starbucks Frapuccino. The woodland critters just need to learn a little courtesy and adopt the 'Have-A-Nice-Day Reaction' that American people give off so well, and then I wont mind them stealing my food or letting their rabid little bodies touch me. Hell, I let you guys start doing that ages ago.
Katie-Ellen McCrory is a history junior. Reach her at kathleen-ellen.mccrory@asu.edu.
