America This Ain't

Written Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Sure the U.K. has free healthcare under the nationalized system (National Health Services, NHS) – something the U.S. could definitely learn from – but in other ways, Britain is not so accommodating. In only three days of residence, it has become painfully clear to me that this is not a consumer-centered culture. And by that I don’t mean that consumerism is less extensive; rather, that customer service is quite poor. In government offices, shops, institutions (i.e. Goldsmiths) and the like, no one falls over themselves to help you. Waits are long, queues are enormous, and good luck finding anyone who will answer even the simplest enquiries.

As you can see, I am picking up the local terminology, but I am not a convert just yet. In some ways I am surprised that I long for the American way of doing things. In the States, people who are overly helpful usually irritate me, both because their eagerness to assist has the feeling of a sales pitch and because I generally prefer to do things myself. Plus, the idea of being constantly treated like a consumer rather than a person, student, or citizen, etc. is abhorrent to me.

In other ways, though, I suppose it’s normal to crave familiarity in a period of change and confusion. Yet I think there’s more to it than that. My theory is that the “American style” has involved so much hand holding that I now feel slightly lost with that guidance gone. I certainly don’t want Britain to become as consumer-oriented as the United States, but it would be nice if I could find some help around here!

It was Monday’s frustrations that prompted this entry – dealing with enrollment, orientation meetings, and opening a bank account. To begin with enrollment, well…where to begin? The equivalent process at UChicago was incredibly efficient. At every stage there was someone telling you what to do and where to go next, and if you somehow managed to get lost there were signs posted everywhere to direct you to the right places.

Not so at Goldsmiths.

When I entered the Great Hall of the Richard Hoggart Building (also known as the Main Building), I looked around confusedly for a moment, then figured I should head over to the table with two signs - “A-M” and “N-Z” - hanging behind, where two women were seated behind a pair of pendoflex files. When it was my turn, the “A-M” woman shoved a form at me and mumbled something about filling it out and going “over there” – pointing lazily to her left. (Now, keep in mind that the Great Hall was filled with stations that were well labeled, but in no seeming order.)

I headed in the direction she indicated, hoping it was the right station, and filled out the form. Then I waited in another queue until it was my turn to be served. My ID and credentials were confirmed, and the man assisting me asked if I had brought my passport picture. I said, “Yes,” and he replied, “Well, did you download it?”

“No.”

“Then go over there and get your picture taken for your Goldsmiths Card.”

Again, I was instructed to go “over there.” So I picked up my folder of important documents and headed toward to what was apparently station number two. But after I left the first station I thought, Wait, then why was I instructed to bring this passport picture? Is it for something else? At that moment I also remembered the two additional photos I had brought at the request of the Anthropology Department – without which, the packet I received from them over the summer said, I could not be registered with the department. The man had said nothing about specific departmental requirements, either. So I turned around to see if he was still free, which of course he wasn’t. If I wanted to ask this simple question I would have had to get back in the queue and wait for him to be available again. I figured the passport picture I was told I’d need to bring for the Goldsmiths Card was probably unnecessary – a bureaucratic oversight in the mailings – and that I’d ask someone in the Anthropology Department about the other pictures later. (Hopefully that will all work out.)

I won’t go into such depth about the rest of the enrollment process or even the rest of Monday’s events because this post is already quite lengthy. Suffice it to say, the whole day was filled with similar confusion and things unexplained. I learned that I could not receive the excess of my student loan disbursements without a British bank account (which would have been nice to know beforehand); got lost when trying to find the library; attempted to attend a scheduled IT orientation that apparently did not exist; endured a lengthy and bizarrely personal meeting with a rather smarmy banker to open an account at Barclays (which was, luckily, successful); got lost again when the signs I was following to the building where the international students' orientation was held suddenly disappeared; and was needlessly worried that I needed to register with the police as an obligation under my student visa (I do not). Whew!

So Monday was a bit rough. But still, I think it’s only a small bump in the road. I have a feeling I’ll soon get the hang of how things work here, and will look back with disbelief that I ever longed for the “American way.”

First Day, First Impressions

Written Saturday, September 19, 2008

After many sad goodbyes, a long night of packing, and a six-hour flight, I am finally here in jolly old England! For the next year I will be an honorary Brit, and London will be my home away from home.

But don’t get too excited. It’s not like I can see Buckingham Palace from my bedroom window! Goldsmiths is in New Cross, part of the borough of Lewisham in Southeast London – a good twenty minutes away from Central. It’s far enough that the College is situated in a relatively quiet area free from the “distractions” (i.e. fun) that could tempt an otherwise focused student, yet close enough that procrastination is always well within reach. It’s quite perfect, actually!


I live near campus in Dean House, a residence hall for postgraduate students. My flat is not quite what I expected based on the picture in the accommodation booklet I was sent over the summer, but it sure is better than Pierce. My four flatmates and I have our own bedrooms (complete with airplane-style closet-bathrooms), which are situated off a long hallway. This is what my room looks like:



And here is the view down New Cross Road from my bedroom window. It looks out toward Greenwich, Central is in the reverse direction.


At the end of the hallway is a common kitchen and small sitting area. Although this kitchen is nowhere near as fabulous and never will be as well-stocked as what I’m used to at home, I think I’ll cope. Actually, I’ll have to, because Goldsmiths has no dining halls or meal plans! The pictures I initially took of the kitchen came out blurry, but I'll put some up as soon as I take them.

I haven’t met all of my flatmates yet, so I’ll have to write about them in a later post when we’ve all got to know each other a little better. Right now everybody’s still trying to settle in and make our spaces feel like home. Personally, I’m finding that task challenging since I could only fit the bare essentials into my two suitcases and one carry-on. Some of you are surely laughing, having seen what I call “the bare essentials,” but I promise, my room is quite spartan – even with all my things unpacked. It definitely needs some sprucing up.

Between unpacking and attempting to catch up on lost sleep, my first day was mostly uneventful. But I did have a few moments of culture shock. The worst was the taxi ride from Heathrow to New Cross; it was both dizzying and nerve wracking to be on the “wrong” side of the road, with cars approaching from (to me) unexpected places and traffic crisscrossing in seemingly dangerous ways. However, I think part of the problem is that taxi drivers in the U.S. and U.K. actually have a lot in common – they’re both crazy!

Besides the fact that I’ll never get into a London taxi again, there’s a whole new vocabulary I need to learn as well. From “chemist” (drug store) to “queue” (line) to “trolley” (shopping cart), I was constantly caught off guard on my first day. It’s strange to have to stop and think about what people are trying to say when you’re speaking the same language!

And apparently, I need to work on my pronunciation, too. My quest to find the nearest ASDA (the British Wal-Mart) got off to a rocky start when I asked one of the move-in aides how to get to the “A-S-D-A.” She was completely befuddled, but politely tried to suggest other stores at which I could buy things like a pillow and hangers. Then she realized that I was referring to ASDA, or “az-duh,” and gladly told me which buses went by there. Needless to say, I still couldn’t find it.

Hopefully I won’t be such an ignorant American for long. In fact, I’m already catching on. In closing, I’ll just say cheers until next time!