Most of the time when anything characteristically or culturally Indian happens, my French friend and I collectively refer to 'our culture' as the antithesis of such an event. Take for instance what we have come to affectionately refer to as the 'Indian line.' Instead of waiting single file for anything, a line will, once reaching the first ten people, dissolve into a crowd of pushing and maneuvering and chaos. We come together, us westerners, in bewilderment, as our learned regulation and mutual respect for one's place in line is thrown strait out the window.
This distinction is drawn as we make exclamations about Indian time, or blatant cheating in class. We generally lump together French and American culture to feel some source of common identity, which for the most part, under most conditions, is basically true.
However there are some, if incredibly trivial, cultural differences. Such as doggie bags. My friend and I were recently out to dinner, and I was only going to eat about half of my pizza, and so I was going to asked to get it wrapped up to go. She would as well, though this idea was, while a perfectly logical one, also something new for her. Apparently, in France, you don't get food wrapped up to go. If you do, you will either be seen as a poor person or else a miser. Its snobby, she explained, but people don't do it although it makes perfect sense. As we were leaving, we laughed as she felt awkward and shy holding her little box, a situation of which I thought nothing.
Ah, the trivial fault lines between the French and Americans.
This distinction is drawn as we make exclamations about Indian time, or blatant cheating in class. We generally lump together French and American culture to feel some source of common identity, which for the most part, under most conditions, is basically true.
However there are some, if incredibly trivial, cultural differences. Such as doggie bags. My friend and I were recently out to dinner, and I was only going to eat about half of my pizza, and so I was going to asked to get it wrapped up to go. She would as well, though this idea was, while a perfectly logical one, also something new for her. Apparently, in France, you don't get food wrapped up to go. If you do, you will either be seen as a poor person or else a miser. Its snobby, she explained, but people don't do it although it makes perfect sense. As we were leaving, we laughed as she felt awkward and shy holding her little box, a situation of which I thought nothing.
Ah, the trivial fault lines between the French and Americans.
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