Violently American
The story of my roommate abroad…
Most of my readers (and don’t I feel pretentious saying that) have heard of my roommate through the exploits of her diabetes-drug-stealing boyfriend, however, you’ve all been deceived because before her there was another. Forged in the fires of Arizona, the dark lord Sauron forged in secret another roommate, one who was determined to control all others. And in this roommate, he poured his arrogance, neuroses, and his will to ignore all diversity. This is her story.
Admittedly, she’s not that bad. She was ridiculous, but she wasn’t “enslave Middle-Earth” terrible. She was my roommate the year before and during my semester in Spain and her sheer determination to avoid any type of assimilation can only be admired. Whether it was pointedly coughing in the face of smokers as she walked by, or refusing to admit that she doesn’t understand Spanish in its country of origin, there is an entire continent littered with her misdeeds. In a months-long experience that at times made me uber-patriotic, she is one of the main reasons I occasionally introduced myself as a Canadian, if only to avoid guilt by association. I could go on and on…so I will.
The first instance that something was off was our trip to Berlin — there were little micro-aggressions in our host country, but the first time I noticed her behavior was cliché to the point of concern was on our first little weekend trip. Anyone who has studied abroad knows that half the appeal is the ability to backpack around to all the other countries in the vicinity. I was particularly excited about seeing similar sites my dad visited when he had done the same thing in 1875 (Checkpoint Charlie, Brandenburg Gate, etc.). For my friend, who comes from a Jewish family, Berlin held an entirely different meaning. So our first day was dedicated to visiting all the memorials and museums we could freely attend instead of the usual practice of drinking immediately and consecutively. After that solemn first day though, we had a whole weekend of sightseeing to do, inevitably ending up at the Berlin wall (where there are some fantastic brunch spots). Here is where Roommate (I don’t have a solid pseudonym for her) decided to turn to me and ask why there was a “giant wall” — her words. Again, this is after an entire day of museums and monuments and after 22 years of supposedly educated life. I’m usually far too capable of hiding my feelings, but as soon as she unironically asked about the Berlin Wall, my face showed all my thoughts, prompting her to respond, “don’t look at me like that. Don’t give me your judgy face.” Except how could I not?! I would chalk that up to the American educational system, except she was perpetually in private school so there’s no excuse.
The next instance was Ireland, where I am lucky enough to have family and more specifically, a cousin with an apartment in Dublin. For the four days my friends and I were there, my cousin and his friends gave up their apartment and, on the first two days when they were still in the city, they gave up their beds and personal space so we could stay. For free. While paying for our food and drinks. Stay gold, lads. But this wasn’t good enough for her — she took me aside one day to mention that she was uncomfortable in the apartment because it was too dirty and smelled too much like boys and alcohol. I thought she was joking. For several reasons, the first of which was that’s how all Irish lodgings will be — you will not find any student lodging in Dublin that doesn’t have whiskey, vomit, and Guinness stains on the carpet, plus it was free, plus it was my own cousin’s place. Stop being the worst version of yourself and trying to convince everyone else that you’re superior.
The titular instance was in Switzerland. Yet another important experience for me because we were in my grandfather’s hometown, and my mom’s cousin was showing us around. I learned where my grandpa sold leeks during the war, where he and his siblings got baptized, and thankfully, learned that they hated Nazis. Not that I thought they wouldn’t! But the confirmation took an unexpected weight off my shoulders. So, after a day touring this little town, again all for free, we went out for drinks at a rooftop bar. It was my mom’s cousin (my second cousin or first cousin once removed?), two of my friends, and me when the aforementioned roommate proceeded to drink so much, she decided it was a good time to try doing cartwheels in the bar. So somewhere between learning about the history of this gingerbread house-looking town and the unfortunate name of a marshmallow covered in chocolate, my distant relative leans over, points to the girl who was failing at a round-off, and tells my friend and me, “your friend is uh…she is violently American.” Of course, we start laughing, because what an amazing thing to say, but it gets better when we ask what he means. He expanded on his point by saying, “she thinks her behavior is charming in a way that doesn’t make sense to others.” I couldn’t even continue, I was dying laughing on the outside but dying of embarrassment on the inside at the knowledge that my one day with this relative was tainted by someone he thought was meaningful in my life. Real laugh, real pain.
The last instance involved Paris. As the spring semester goers, we had three days all-expenses paid trip to Paris built into our tuition that kickstarted our spring break. I found a bar crawl that consisted of only other international students participating. We were spending time with people from all continents and all walks of life, and all she could think to do was to start crying because she felt left out. By this point, I had it. I was on my last legs, as anyone else would be. So when I was drinking and getting to know a very broad-shouldered New Zealander (unrelated to my Middle-Earth metaphor), she interrupted by stumbling over drunk and crying. When I finally calmed her down enough to make sure she hadn’t been robbed again or assaulted, she finally explained that she was crying because, “I feel like you think you’re better than me!” and in a fit of righteous rage and indignation, my only response was, “you know what? I am!”
Not the kindest thing I’ve said, I’ll admit. But I’m not entirely empathetic on the best of days, and she was handicapping my trip. Looking back now, I can tell that she was clearly a deeply insecure individual who was unable and unwilling to laugh at herself and couldn’t even deal with the possibility that she was not entirely 110% perfect in every way. Maybe that was why she spent so long talking herself and her accomplishments up because she knew she couldn’t stand on her merit. Either way, I would like to say that I’ve learned to give a little more grace to those who are floundering, but if I’m honest…I’m glad I made different friends and I don’t miss her at all. She was the worst.
