G'day. Today is the 20th anniversary of the day Linda and Jason and I left Boston to move to Sydney. It has turned out to be the most significant lifestyle decision we have ever made. Our careers, our closest friends, and our precious granddaughter have all come about because of that move.
When we first moved here, we didn't know what to expect so we bought books and carefully studied Australian movies for hints of what life in Oz would be like. The books told us to expect businessmen in shorts with knee socks. The movies told us to expect characters like Mad Max and Crocodile Dundee. At least the movies gave us a hint of what to expect.
We read about Strine, but quickly learned that not every woman we met actually wanted to be called "sheila" although the men didn't mind "bloke". Certain phrases did prove helpful - "pissed as a newt" and "two-pot screamer" come to mind. But there were more difficult challenges as we attempted to navigate between the English we spoke and the English we heard from everyone else.
Certain words were toxic. For example, my Yank friends and family need to know that "rooting" here is pretty much the same as "screwing" there. No one in America would blink when Linda said she rooted for the New York Giants, but our Aussie friends were a bit taken aback at that. Although, as I recall, a few of the women in the office asked for the team's phone numbers when they travelled to New York.
The little word "off" also added meaning. In both countries "pissed off" means angry. In America, you don't even need the word "off". But here "pissed" by itself means drunk. So it was that Jason was telling one of his new friends that his mother was not happy with something that had happened. "My mother is really pissed," he told him. Undoubtedly feeling that deep secrets were being shared, his friend replied, "Yeah, mate, I know. My mother's like that every night."
But not all language barriers came from not understanding the local idiom. I recall one night when Jason and I drove to the local bottle shop to get some beer and a bag of ice. We had been in Oz about 2 months, and I was acutely aware that lots of Aussies didn't understand my accent. I learned to speak slowly and loudly, which didn't help them understand me but did make them feel I was condescending, as well as incomprehensible.
I asked the guy (the bloke) at the bottle shop for a bag of ice. He stared at me blankly. "Ice," I said with no response. I stretched the word out - Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. No luck.
I was feeling pretty frustrated. In the back of my mind, I am thinking that if I can't even be understood saying the word "ice" than I am in for difficult times in this country. I moved to the definition phase of communication: "You know, frozen water in little cubes," I said.
"Oh! Oice!" he said. "Why didn't you say so?
When I told this tale to my co-workers, two things became clear. One, all the Aussies knew what I meant when I said the word "ice." And two, every one of them knew immeditely that this guy was from New Zealand. The Aussies then told me about the Kiwis. And I started to feel much more at home as it became obvious that even a Septic like me had a few rungs up the ladder on some others.
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