Social Life


Living in university residence and on the college mailing list, you tend to be privy to quite a few interesting e-mails. E-mails written out of anger, however, tend to be divided into two categories: laundry rage (when someone steals your slot) and kitchen/food rage (when someone leaves mess or steals your food or kitchenware).

These e-mails also provide an interesting idea of cultural differences. Here’s two. The rambling, passive aggressive one is written by a British doctoral student regarding stolen kitchenware. The short, concise one is written by an American Marshall scholar from Los Angeles.

Enjoy.

From: The British Scholar
To: Everybody
Date: Sometime in June
Subject: Beware of Vanishing Objects

My 8 inch Wusthof-Trident Chef’s Knife, which I’ve owned since my restaurant days, seems to have disappeared from my carry-all in the North Wing Ground floor kitchen during the last week. Aside from the obvious sentimental value, its loss would be bearable had not my 10 inch Chef’s knife disappeared from the Martin Ground floor kitchen 3 days ago. Now we seem to be left with flimsy serrated knives which, if utilised to cut anything substantial, like say a butternut squash, will most likely snap and take out someone’s eye (and, of course, chopping anything is now out of the question).

I should also note that my toaster disappeared from our kitchen 2 weeks ago, and my industrial food processor sometime in Michaelmas–not to mention the loss of roughly 10 roasting pans in the last 2 years.

(1) If any of you have said items could you please return them

and,

(2) Is anyone else experiencing the same type of kitchen related separation anxiety?

Balliol MCR……effortlessly superior, or merely dirtbags?

It’s up to you.

- [The Brit]

From: The American Scholar
To: Everybody
Date: Sometime in June
Subject: Ice cream theft

To whoever helped themselves to my entire carton of ice cream in the Dellal ground floor kitchen — I hope you enjoyed it immensely. Because when I find you, I am going to remove your face.

- [The American]

What people seem to misunderstand is that an RSVP on an invitation, or a répondez s’il-vous-plait — literally French for ‘please respond’, doesn’t mean only those who wish to attend are expected to reply, but everybody.

It’s just simple courtesy.

And on that note, before leaving the office for my week-long Christmas break this past Friday, I snapped this picture from the door of a faculty member.

Stress

Penny

I was there buying coat hangers.

The total was £1.59, so I gave the cashier £2.09

She fiddled with the change and pushed back a penny, frowning.

“Did I give you too little?”

“No…it’s not that,” she said, “I just can’t take this penny. It’s…Canadian.”

Her emphasis on the word, ‘Canadian’ gave the impression that she was neither impressed by our easy-going charms, nor our prowess for winter sports.

I didn’t have another penny.

“But it looks the same!” I pleaded.

She shrugged indifferently.

“And you know,” I continued, undaunted, “the Canadian dollar is unusually strong these days.”

She shrugged again.

“Think of it as an investment,” I cajoled.

“Sorry,” she said, her tone indicating that she was anything but sorry. “Don’t you have a penny?”

The next customer in line rummaged helpfully in her pockets. “I have a penny for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking it, “And in return for your generous donation, you get this shiny, one-of-a-kind, Canadian penn–”

“–No thanks,” she said quickly.

I shrugged casually. Trying to hide my chagrin and disappointment.

I handed the penny to the cashier. Smirking.

“I’m really trying to infiltrate the British economy,” I whispered conspiratorially. “With Canadian pennies.”

She ignored me.

“Yep. One penny at a time.”

Nope. Nothing. Not even a smile.

She handed me 50 pence and my receipt.

“Thanks,” was all she said.

Tough crowd, these Brits. Really. Tough crowd.

For my last night in Canada, I decided to have a very informal, very impromptu dessert with a pair of friends.

The night winds down, and the waitress — who I noticed was eyeing and smiling at me throughout the evening from the far reaches of the restaurant — approaches, hands the group our bill, and begins to walk away. She stops, however, giggles, and asks me,

“You know who you remind me of?”

We all shrug.

“Ever seen The Adventures of Lois and Clark?”

My friends — supportive as always — gape at her.

WHAT?! Superman? You think he looks like Superman? He’s asian for god’s sake”.

“Dean Cain,” she says, laughing and nodding.

“Thanks a lot,” the other friend goes, “his ego’s already like,” she spreads her arms wide, “–this– big, already.”

Me? I just grin ear to ear.

Dean

Yeah. I know. I look nothing like him.

But it’s my last night in Ottawa.

Give a guy a break, okay?

If a girl wants to compare me to the Man of Steel, who am I to argue?

Note to anybody who gets their books from the Elmvale Acres branch of the Ottawa Public Library: There’s a really cute, really clumsy book stacker who’s always there from 4:00 to 5:00 on Saturdays.

Don’t ask me how I know this.

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