Culture Clash

As you know, there are moments here in Holland when my new home's culture comes into direct conflict with the norms and values I'm accustomed to in the US. Now... I know what you're thinking... here's comes another naked story... but HA! fooled you. Today's entry is not about random strangers exposing their bits in front of me. (this time)

Remember that freshman psychology/anthropology/sociology course you took where they taught you about different cultures and their needs for "personal space?" Like, if you were to hop on a plane and land in Egypt or Italy or some such place, you've gotta expect that the people are gonna get all up in your face when they're talking to you. And you, my habibe, my amico, WILL feel uncomfortable with people that close to you. You will inch away, little by little, attempting to free yourself from this person's claustrophic orbit. And as you flee, you're new friend will move in on you because he'll be thinking "Well how can I have a proper conversation with this person if they are all the way on the other side of the room!"

I think we Americans/Brits/Australians need something like 12 inches of breathing space from non-intimates (i.e. people who don't get to see our exposed bits) to feel relaxed and at peace in a crowd. (Well, unless, maybe, that crowd is comprised entirely of Calvin Klein underwear models.)

But here it's different. I mean, the Dutch might look like just a taller version of us, but they definately have a different sense of personal space.

In Holland, especially in the grocery store, I get, maybe, 6 inches. TOPS. When I'm in line, patiently awaiting my turn to buy Gouda cheese and Grolsch beer, the people are so uncomfortably close to me I swear I can smell what they had for dinner the night before.

And though I do still find this a bit irritating at times, I've adapted. Really. It's okay. Feel free to cozy up to my behind and poke your carrots in my back. (that's not a euphemism, by the way) I know that you don't know that this is just way to close for my taste. And since I now live in your country, I will deal.

That is, until you start touching me in a rather aggressive sort of way. THEN, I'm gonna get all worked up and rant about you, rude Dutch lady, on my personal blog.

Yesterday at the grocery store, we were all bunched up together as usual, happily prodding each other with our produce. It was a bit busier than usual and so the line I was in had begun to flow back into the aisle. (It was the "personal hygiene" aisle, if memory serves me right.) A woman wheeled her cart up behind me and, upon spying that the line next to us was shorter, decided to aisle jump.

One problem, though. I, pesky thing that I am, was in her way.

To solve her dilemma, she put one hand on my shoulder and started pushing. At first, I thought I was being escorted from the grocery store for... oh I don't know... speaking English too loudly in a twangy American accent... but then I realized: This big Dutch lady here is ACTUALLY SHOVING ME OUT OF HER WAY.

I turned to look at her, giving her the best withering stare I could muster. "Sorry!" she said with a look of suprise, only then realizing that I was not a sack of potatoes but rather a real live human being that she was moving from her path.

I'd like to write here that I came up with some really great line to say to her... something to let her know just how rude I found her. Something witty and profound and hilariously funny. But no... I'm not that quick.