I grew up in Stratford-upon-Avon, and when I was at school I had a weekend job as a waitress in one of the tearooms there (touristy name for cafe/restaurant). As you can imagine we got lots of tourists, often from abroad, and often American, you developed a nack for dealing with cultural differences.
It was Tom's first day (not his real name), and this American man walks in, obviously fairly well-to-do (Several big cameras/camcorders slung round his neck). He walks up to Tom and asks if he could use the restroom. Tom innocently replies:
"I'm sorry we don't have one of those, but you can take a seat at the table in the corner if you like."
The man's face was a picture!
This incident beat my 'Bubble and Squeak' woman, another American I'm afraid. She asked me what bubble and squeak was (fair enough - it's fried mashed potatoes and leaks), but then couldn't grasp the idea that bubble and squeak was one complete dish. She kept saying "So that's the bubble, but what's the squeak?", and so it went on for several minutes...
Just to balance it out, we had our fair share of Brits who didn't get it. Such as the guy who sent back the clotted cream because it had 'gone off' (no, it's supposed to look like that), and prefered to have squirty cream out of a can (the only other alternative we had to give him).
Helga
Knowledge is knowing that tomatoes are a fruit.
Intelligence is not putting them in a fruit salad.
