Canadians ARE Different
When I went to University in Scotland, there were a number of students from the United States and Canada. “American” was a term that applied to each of them, and I found that Canadians were upset if we United States inhabitants referred to ourselves as being from “America” because we all were. In the nearly 20 years since that time, anti-US sentiment has grown so strong (with only a brief and incomplete respite during the Clinton years) that Canadians are all too glad now to be different, and not lumped with the other Americans. You are from Canada or you are from the US. If you are a liberal and a tourist and from the US, you are, in fact, somewhat inclined to pretend you are Canadian while abroad.
But Canadians ARE different. We all saw Bowling for Columbine, and noted Michael Moore’s distinctions between Canadians and people from the United States. They have more firearms and less violent crime. Their news really does heavily favour stories about potholes, or the crippling road construction headline that blared at us from the newspaper dispensing box in Antigonish, NS. But more than all that, they are nice. I’m sure there are some mean Canadians out there, but I haven’t met them yet. Waitresses caution you not to order the icky thing on the menu, and give what appears to an “American” to be extraordinary service, because we’re accustomed to the teenaged or 20-something waitresses (servers) who are more than surly, who act as though they are doing you an enormous favour by waiting on you, and who muster the most disdainful glare ever when you ask for more water. Sure they’re working for tips, but so are the US counterparts.
It isn’t just service professionals who are different though, and it isn’t just because I’m “tenting” as a single mother with two young rabbits who aren’t SO helpful when it comes to setting up a tent. People chat you up in the washroom, come over to the tent with a hammer to assist in getting tent stakes into the rocky bottom of a mountain. One woman walked down the street to offer direction or assistance east of Lunenberg when I stopped to take a picture. I eyed her suspiciously, had I been trespassing or doing something else untoward that she had secretly come to chastise me about? Nope, just being friendly.
They also know how to drive here. Since I come from a country with a horrific public transportation system, the bulk of whose economy is based on the almighty auto, it’s amazing that US-ers don’t know how to drive. Travel lane. Passing lane. Keep right unless you’re passing. ‘Nuff said.
Canadians recycle EVERYTHING. There isn’t any of that, oh it’s too much trouble, or it costs too much (as New York State just decided), we can only do plastic number 2 not PETE. They even encourage composting.
National health care.
On parle Français içi. That’s cool.
Last year, when I was making the same rant to my friends at work about how much I enjoy Canadians, one young man said snidely, “Why don’t you just move there then?” Well, were it not for a custody battle, employment, and the fact that I might not be nice enough myself to get in, I would. Let’s see how the next election goes.
But Canadians ARE different. We all saw Bowling for Columbine, and noted Michael Moore’s distinctions between Canadians and people from the United States. They have more firearms and less violent crime. Their news really does heavily favour stories about potholes, or the crippling road construction headline that blared at us from the newspaper dispensing box in Antigonish, NS. But more than all that, they are nice. I’m sure there are some mean Canadians out there, but I haven’t met them yet. Waitresses caution you not to order the icky thing on the menu, and give what appears to an “American” to be extraordinary service, because we’re accustomed to the teenaged or 20-something waitresses (servers) who are more than surly, who act as though they are doing you an enormous favour by waiting on you, and who muster the most disdainful glare ever when you ask for more water. Sure they’re working for tips, but so are the US counterparts.
It isn’t just service professionals who are different though, and it isn’t just because I’m “tenting” as a single mother with two young rabbits who aren’t SO helpful when it comes to setting up a tent. People chat you up in the washroom, come over to the tent with a hammer to assist in getting tent stakes into the rocky bottom of a mountain. One woman walked down the street to offer direction or assistance east of Lunenberg when I stopped to take a picture. I eyed her suspiciously, had I been trespassing or doing something else untoward that she had secretly come to chastise me about? Nope, just being friendly.
They also know how to drive here. Since I come from a country with a horrific public transportation system, the bulk of whose economy is based on the almighty auto, it’s amazing that US-ers don’t know how to drive. Travel lane. Passing lane. Keep right unless you’re passing. ‘Nuff said.
Canadians recycle EVERYTHING. There isn’t any of that, oh it’s too much trouble, or it costs too much (as New York State just decided), we can only do plastic number 2 not PETE. They even encourage composting.
National health care.
On parle Français içi. That’s cool.
Last year, when I was making the same rant to my friends at work about how much I enjoy Canadians, one young man said snidely, “Why don’t you just move there then?” Well, were it not for a custody battle, employment, and the fact that I might not be nice enough myself to get in, I would. Let’s see how the next election goes.
posted by kingoftherabbits at
4:28 PM
1 Comments:
I loved being stopped at a red traffic light in Quebec city, while studying a map, and went through the green cycle with nary a sound; a man behind us came up to the window and asked if he could help us find our way.
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