Salt and Pepper Wars

The fight, for lack of a better term, started over the differing number of holes in salt and pepper shakers.

Last night, I went to my flatmate Thom's birthday party. The order of festivities was Union - Indian restaurant - Union. I still haven't gotten over the twisted brilliance of centering a student union around a bar and dance club, but that's the fact.

At the Indian restaurant, I had a fascinating conversation with Ollie. As the only two attendees not a part of GameSoc, we were isolated from the "would you rather fight a Level 5 War-Hammer Magician or a Fire-Breathing Necromancer with triple body armor with only a cyborg taser" exchanges that the rest of the attendees debated with fervor. Instead, we chatted about skiing, playing Fantasie Impromptu on piano, and England's immigration issues.

Let me preface what I observe next with this: these moments are certainly the exception rather than the rule. I guess they stick out in my mind because they were one of the things the guidebooks actually got right.

Some English students fancy poking fun at American students. Much of the time, their insults aren't very insulting, just minor jabs aimed at proving some self-righteous point. When you-the-American are being insulted, it often takes a second or two to realize that you have ben. The British offendee will not normally make eye contact with you, so you haven't the foggiest idea you're being "funned" with.

Here comes the salt and pepper catalyst. While I was speaking with Ollie, I asked which of the two identical shakers was the pepper. He pointed to the one with the five holes on top. Apparently, pepper has five holes and salt always has only one so you don't spill too much salt on your food. I was in a good mood so I said that was ingenious.

The guest to my left was flabbergasted stupid Americans hadn't thought of this salt/pepper thing yet.

"You're right, I'll have to get rich off this idea when I go back," I said, pulling the plug on his joke.

But apparently I didn't pull hard enough.

"Just like you steal all our other great ideas," he retorted, or something of that sort, again not looking at me.

There are several arrows in the American's quiver to dealing with this rubbish.

First is to become that American stereotype they're trying to provoke: the Western gun-slinger who will unholster a Colt .45 to answer the British spitball. Or in this situation, akin to me picking up my plate of food and letting him lick it off his shirt.

Second is to respond with a witty comeback. Meaning I would have to respond to the spitball with an even wetter, sloppier spitball that disarms the opponent by making him look foolish. I've never been good at comebacks, so this wasn't an option.

Third is just to get plain pissed off. This too would be as good if not better than admitting defeat because you become the monster he's trying to provoke.

Fourth is to use self-deprecating humor. This completely disarms your opponent and, although you're making fun of yourself, actually gives you the upper hand because you show how this silly verbal fencing is beneath you. I've used self-deprecating humor before when I was getting quipped at for studying English:

"Hah, I used to study that artsy-fartsy stuff," one of the British jiu jitsu students said. "Now I do medicine."

"Well, I'll come to you when I have whooping cough from living in my cardboard box beside the train tracks," I said. Big smile, laugh at my own joke, move on and you're both feeling good.

Fifth and finally, just go on as if nothing has happened. This is the most honest response, I think, because really, nothing has happened. The Brit has made a C+ joke they're feeling pretty good about, and your silence let's them know that you're an A student so that garbage isn't even worth responding to.

That's what I did here. I just kept talking to Ollie as if nothing had happened.

A minute later, however, as I tried to understand why Brits don't like PBJ sandwiches, the guy tried it again.

He looked in the direct opposite direction of me, and said: "Have you ever eaten real food?"

This time I paused.

"No, I'm photosynthetic," I could've said. "All Americans are. Haven't you ever been to a real country?"

Or:

"Your grasp of reality astounds me," I could've said, calling his attention to the fact that he'd been talking all night about superhero characters that didn't exist.

But unless I was a ghost or some imagined superhero resurrected from the churning seas of Middle-Earth by the fateful roll the dice, then my presence at this table meant I had survived more than two decades.

And that I would survive his cheap quips, too.

In fact, I'll welcome them even when I'm a rich and famous American inventor for introducing bars to US universities' student unions and for differing between salt and pepper shakers by the number of holes on top.

So things don't get too salty, you know.