Tonight Elise and I dined at Bartley's, a supposed Cambridge burger institution. We were smooshed into a small table, enjoying our dinners and drinking water out of plastic beer steins, when two English blokes squeezed into the smooshed table right next to us. I suddenly felt like I was on a double date. With two strangers.
As Elise and I were finishing our dinners, the boys' food was delivered -- two cheeseburgers, one with fries on the side and one with... potato chips. The guy who received the chips looked momentarily shocked, then embarrassed, and stammered to the waitress, "oh, this isn't what I -- the problem is -- you see, I'm English, and we call THOSE --" pointing to fries on his friend's plate -- "chips."
It really was unnecessary for him to explain that he was English.
His mate gave him crap as soon as the waitress unsmilingly left to fetch a plate of fries, and Chips Boy replied, "I didn't know, did I? Bloody hell." Um, did he think he was in Cambridge...ENGLAND? I'm sorry, but at this point at the world's stage of globalization, if you're an English person and don't know that Americans call chips "fries" and crisps "chips," then you need to put down the OK! Magazine, pull your head out of the loo and catch the next lorry to Basic Knowledgeville, USA.
I'd like to see this guy try to buy erasers at the American drug store.