Language Gaps

While the Welsh speak English (my father would have disagreed that anyone over here speaks the same language he did), there are still a few times where I find gaps in the language. At times, these gaps can be rather jarring.

The first major gap that I found is this word "Cheers." Lots of people use the same term in the states, but usually just to end a letter, or in this modern day, an email.

Here, cheers seems to be used for any number of reasons:
1) To say goodbye: "We'll I got to go now." "Alright then. Cheers."
2) To signal the end of a transaction: "That is six pound, ninety change. Cheers."
3) To express appreciation: "Hold the door! Cheers!"
And so on.

The other day, as I was walking from the post office to the library, I saw an undergraduate struggling to get home with a surprising amount of beer. It was surprising for a few reasons. First, it was Tuesday, noon. Secondly, he was looking to get from the grocery store to his dorm room carrying one thirty-can case and two shrink wrapped fifteen-can cases. 60 cans of beer. On a tuesday. At noon. The Welsh I have talked to consider the American legal drinking age draconian, but I am fairly sure few of my fraternity brothers would have passed college had they been allowed to openly purchase 60 cans of beer on any given Tuesday morning.

At any rate, I hate to see people struggling, so I asked if he needed help. "Could you, mate? Cheers, man," he said, and we started off. Once at his dorm, he said, "This will do, man. Cheers a lot."
Cheers...a lot? I thought. Did he say, 'Cheers...a lot'?
Because the use I am most familiar with is as closure to written discourse, it was as if he said "Goodbye, a lot" to me. Like when others use the word around me, I reverted to my usual reply: "Uh...okay."

The other term I can not seem to wrap my head around, one that instantly puts me on the defense, is when I am referred to as foreign. Fuck you, I think, I'm not foreign; I'm American.

For Americans, the word foreign has developed a negative connotation: foreigners are shifty, lazy, or dangerous people. Individuals who want to raid our country, stealing our freedoms, and refusing to pay taxes, only to bomb our buildings, insist on their language and practice their strange religions. You can see people tense when a Muslim man approaches the security gates at an airport. Look at that foreigner. He probably will blow this plane up. Great. I will be killed by that foreigner. Or consider the reaction some people have to a large group of Spanish speaking workers. Damn Mexicans; they should learn English or go home.

Unfortunately, I naturally recoil at the word, as if the person across the counter just referred to me as a terrorist. While this man who sold me my DS adapter said:
"Can we take this card, boss?"
"Is that from a foreign bank account? Yeah sure."
I heard:
"This terrorist wants to use his phony money here to purchase our freedom. Should I let him? I don't trust him, and in turn, don't like him..."

Being an "other" is not something I am used to. I am a white, middle-aged man, and thus have received all the benefits that entails. I've never been looked at strangely for my skin color (save the times I used to play with the Spanish band at St. Dominic, but that was far from hostile, and more a curiosity), passed up on a job for my gender, or discriminated against for my age. Hell, I am the average height car manufacturers use to make car seats and calculate interior cabin space. In America, I am quintessentially average. Here, there have been plenty of opportunities to draw attention to my unaverageness.

When I registered, I was asked my ethnicity, and I said, "White." Seems obvious. I'm not black, Asain or Latino (obviously).
"Yes...but what kind?"
Kind? White - non-Hispanic? I thought; the usual answer on the Equal Opportunity forms I fill out for employment or school.
"Ummm," I hesitated, "What are my options?"
There was a list of available white ethnicities I could be that were attached to geographical locations (European, Welsh, British, etc.). There were a veritable plethora of different blacks, whites, Asians, Africans, and Hispanic ethnicities . Then, the dreaded box: "White - Other". For the first time in my life, I was an other. The secretary was hesitant to check it.
"How does it feel," Will chuckled, "to be an other?"

That is still the hardest part about being out here: I categorically don't fit in here. My inability to use "Cheers!" correctly only makes me stand out further. My gut reaction to assault the cashier who refers to me as 'foreign', though, that may earn me a night in the clink.