That’s not quite what I meant…

On a recent trip back to London, my friends were surprised that in the eight months I’ve now been living in San Francisco, I have not picked up an accent. They seemed most disappointed that I was not elongating my Rs, but even more so that I was not using American expressions.

“You mean you don’t say sidewalk, instead of pavement?” Asked Friend No 1. No. “And you don’t say faucet instead of tap?” said Friend No 2. No. After forty-odd years of speaking in a particular way, with a particular vocabulary, you don’t change that quickly, I explained.

But actually, it’s not as cut and dried as that.

I am surrounded by Americans every day. And while people I meet (even the ones who think I’m Australian, which happens about three times a week) love the accent, and my colleagues enjoy the novelty of having a Brit in the office, I don’t really want to be a source of amusement. And certain things I say really are a source of amusement, either because of the way I say them, or because they are expressions that simply haven’t crossed the pond. So while I don’t go around high-fiving people and proclaiming everything ‘awesome’, I do adapt certain pronunciations, and substitute some words or phrases. It just avoids all the quizzical looks. Here are just a few:

Things I only say to Americans:

• Elevator: I don’t care how long I live here, to me it will always be a lift. A Lyft meanwhile is San Franciscans’ preferred alternative to Uber.
• Tomato (as in tomayto, not tomahto): But a potato is a potato. Just don’t ask for a jacket potato.
• Check: ‘Can I get the check please?’ avoids lots of confusion and/or hilarity in restaurants. A bill is a note – something you spend, not something you write. In fact that’s another one – ‘can I get’ instead of may I have’.
• Schedule: Pronounced ‘skedule’ here. I have to check myself every time, but it saves the mocking ‘shedjooooool’.

Things I’ve learned not to say to Americans:

• Plasters: I cut my finger the other day and asked my girlfriend if we had any plasters in the house. ‘What?’ she asked, incredulously, as blood pumped out all over the kitchen floor. ‘Plasters,’ I said, waving my bloody digit in her face. She could hardly contain her mirth as (eventually) she applied a Band-Aid. It seems there are lots of everyday products that Americans refer to by the name of the leading brand name. See also: Saran Wrap (cling film, to you and me.)
• Horses for courses: A perfectly acceptable expression, I thought, for describing… well, it’s bloody obvious what it means, isn’t it? (Apparently not.)
• Using a sprat to catch a mackerel: OK, this one is perhaps not in common parlance even in Great Britain, but I have yet to find a US equivalent that means the same.
• Anything my dad used to say: He had some colourful expressions, some of which I have adopted, which leave everyone flummoxed, a prime example being: “It’s a bit black over Bill’s mother’s.” Actually quite a useful expression in the Bay, where the weather is so changeable.

Things that mean something different to Americans:

Food and drink is the most confusing area. I’ve noted before how San Franciscans will queue for anything, especially where food is concerned. I admire it, actually. Getting a sandwich in the UK means something cold and limp from the chiller in Tesco, but here few people would think of getting a sandwich not made to order. You have to be on your game, too, ready to answer a dozen questions: What size? What type of bread? (some of which I’d never come across before moving here); do you want it toasted? And then there are the fillings and the sides…

• Chicken salad: Now, I thought this was sliced chicken with a bit of lettuce and tomato. No. It’s a kind of mush, that may or may not once have been in contact with poultry of some kind.
• Pickle: Branston, right? Wrong. If you nod when asked if you want pickle (this is usually the eighteenth or nineteenth question, so I’ve usually given up and started saying yes to everything by this point) you will get what appears to be a gherkin of some kind, to accompany your enormous sandwich. And chips, of course. (No, not that kind.)

Best of all though, is the word ‘quite’. This is not a question of pronunciation, but one of meaning. I suppose, strictly speaking, our American friends use it correctly, where as the Brits use it to mean a multitude of things. Much like ‘interesting’.

If I’m asked my opinion on something and I say it’s ‘quite good’, I actually means it’s good. An American describing something in this way would really be saying it is sub-par. ‘Quite good’, as in ‘not completely good’.

I also use it (as do most Brits) to mean ‘I agree’. This is very confusing to my American friends and colleagues; it sounds to them as if I don’t entirely agree. But what’s the alternative? You won’t catch me saying ‘word’.