It’s a strange thing, living in America with a Scottish accent. The moment I open my mouth, I become a lightning rod for questions. And not the friendly sort like, “What’s your favourite whisky?” or “Do you know any good Scottish jokes?” No, the questions come hurtling at me like snowballs: “Whaddya think about American gun laws?” “Are you for the UK Labour or Conservative party?” And if they figure out I’m from Scotland: “What d’you think about the SNP?” For Christ’s sake, can we no’ just talk about dogs?
I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ll say, “Hey, do you like dogs? gesturing towards my beautiful Scottish Deerhound. “His name is Cairbre, (pronounced “Car-bray,”) which means “charioteer”. The response is usually something like, “Oh, what a nice dog, he’s so big, I bet it’s expensive to feed him, but he’s probably good protection… speaking of protection, you’ve obviously got less gun violence in the UK, but don’t you have more knife crime?” your police there don’t even have guns, is that right? How can they protect the citizens? Don’t you think your police should have guns?!? It’s relentless.
As someone who likes to keep his opinions to himself, I’ve found that life in the States can be a bit of a minefield. People seem compelled to ask me about elections, drug laws, capital punishment, healthcare, you name it. And if it’s not politics, it’s questions about whether I eat haggis and blood pudding (both delicious, by the way).
I’ve half-jokingly thought about getting card printed with talking points and conversation starters. I could just hand it over when I meet someone new:
- Favourite food: Cullen Skink, or proper fish & chips, whisky and coffee.
- Favourite music: Anything but bagpipes.
- Politics or religion? No, thank you.
- Favorite TV show? Outlander. (war and time travel? yes please
- Do you like dogs? Yes. A million times, yes.
Even dating is a nightmare. I either meet people who’ve Googled “UK government trivia” that morning and want to impress me with their newfound knowledge of Parliament, or they expect me to explain the inner workings of the monarchy. Sorry, but I’m not your personal tour guide to the Kings and Queens of Merry Ol’ England.
I do stay informed on current events, probably more than the average person, if I’m honest, but I don’t want to talk about it. Especially with strangers. Why waste a perfectly good afternoon arguing over things we’ve no control over when we could be talking about something, anything other than this? That’s one of the many reasons I’m more comfortable around dogs than humans. You might argue with a dog about whether they’re allowed on the couch, but at least they don’t have opinions on Brexit or the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th Amendment.
Yesterday, I reached my breaking point. I was at a diner for breakfast, minding me own business, when an older couple asked if they could sit at me table. It was busy, so I said yes. Within seconds of sitting down, the man looks me square in the face and says, “So, what do you think of our new president?”
I glanced at his wife, expecting her to be glaring at him for being so forward, but no. She was staring at me just as earnestly, waiting for my grand opinion. What was I supposed to say? Anything I said could ruin their breakfast just as quickly as they had ruined mine.
So I politely said, “No comment,” and took a big bite of my eggs.
But that wasn’t enough for him. He leaned forward and said, “How can you have no comment?”
At that point, I just stood up and left. Luckily, I was nearly finished and had already paid. But honestly, who does that? Is it an American thing to demand strangers engage in conversations that could end with black eyes and broken noses?
For the record, I love it when people come up to me and my dog to say hi. Ask me about my favourite food, me favourite whisky, or the best hikes in the area. But please, for the love of all things holy, let’s leave politics and religion out of it.
If you ever see me in person, you’ll recognise me easily, I’ll be the one with the dog, frantically searching my pockets for my conversation card.