Shouting from Street Corners

London is home to over eight million people, an intricate Tube and Bus system, and thousands of businesses - making it an incredibly loud place. During one of my classes, the phrase ‘seen but not heard’ was used to describe Londonites, and I dismissed this obviously erroneous phrase.

As the ‘newness’ of London has faded, I have been able to separate the white noise of London from person-manifested noise. For my purposes, traffic and machinery composes a majority of London’s white noise, while people interacting with one another constitute person-manifested noise. Making this distinction provides me the opportunity to place merit in Londonites as ‘seen but not heard’.

When shuffling the streets of London one does not run into a neighbor or the family pediatrician. Instead, you leave Point A hurriedly to arrive at Point B with no sidewalk conversations, head nodding, or passing smiles. Traveling via the Tube or Bus, one picks up a free newspaper to read or pulls out a phone to manipulate. In the couple of dozen Tube/Bus trips I've made, I have yet to hear a phone ring or vibrate, and I have learned that conversations on the Tube identify you as American. Grocery shopping consists of bagging your own groceries into your own bag and swiping your debit/credit card all with little-to-no contact with the representative behind the counter. Asking directions from individuals who are obviously British (there is a ‘British’ look) will not produce the results you desire, either. It seems as if the streets of London having a muting effect on its people. These muting streets have created a culture. Roger Scruton describes the culture in England, An Elugy saying,

“To come home [England] was to rediscover order, moderation and reality, to reassume the habits of people who muddle along in private, taking things as they come.”

Being here only a week, I have stopped asking the employees at Waitrose how they are doing, I refrain from smiling at pedestrians or street vendors, I quickly cross streets in between speeding taxis (I have yet to see a speed limit sign) even when time is in my favor, and I have started reading the Camden Chronicle on the Tube. When the Tube announces that the route I needed is closed, I no longer ask the people around me but collect myself and read a map [novel idea]. This is not to say that I am not pleasant, but I am pleasant in a manner that is consistent with the Brit's sense of reserve and individualism.

Acting as a pleasant Brit, I know that I could not be a Brit forever and have realized that I have never before placed any part of my identity in my geographic home. Now, eight days in a new country, I have a great desire to shout "I AM FROM KENTUCKY. IT’S A WONDERFUL PLACE. I AM GOING TO TALK TO YOU, AND I WANT YOU TO INVEST IN THE MOMENT WE ARE SHARING!!!" Yes, I want to know about your aunt’s rodent problem or your cousin’s fiancés’ decision to attend culinary school! 

Tell me [in English], London. Feed me, London. Smile at me, London.