As a British-born and bred ex-pat, of Irish descent, living and working in the South of Spain for the best part of twenty-five years, there were three types of social events I tried my best to avoid like the plague. It's not that I am in any way anti-social, far from it, I can be quite the social butterfly when I want to be. However, I learned the hard way to be very selective about who I mixed with socially.First off, singles nights, which I found to be more like grab-a-disgruntled-granny nights. When I found myself footloose and fancy-free, after my second divorce, I gave a couple of those types of social gatherings a try. I have never in all my born days met such a bitter and twisted, miserable shower of damaged goods. I would have thought that they'd be ecstatic to be free again, at last. No way, all they wanted was to find somebody who would patiently listen to them carping on about what a swine their ex was. And as if that wasn't enough to contend with, then there was the local ambulance-chasing attorney who was out to bag himself a new client. There was nearly always some disgruntled female ex who wanted him to legally kick her ex-husband in the nuts for her. At the end of the evening, I was beginning to feel positively suicidal myself. I steered well clear after that, just to avoid the temptation to slit my own wrists.***Next, English nights at some bar for those Spanish natives who wanted to practice their English conversation skills. I didn't see why I should freely give away that by which I earned my living. And all too often they would ask for some one-to-one private classes, for three euros an hour! Hells bells, I could get ten euros an hour as a cleaner, pushing a mop and bucket full of soapy water around beer-swilled bar floors. Then there were the rutting single guys present, young men who just wanted to make out with a pretty local senorita. And amongst those would also be a plethora of bullshitters who like to pretend to be something they were not. Ukrainian girls, who reckoned they were qualified architects to the guy they were chatting to next to me because he had told them that he was going to build his own house. Then a few minutes later, not realizing that I had overheard their BS chat, telling me that they were qualified bar marketing specialists after somebody had told them I owned my own bar. And then there were others, like the girl from Russia whose English left a lot to be desired, but who had bullshitted her way into giving expensive English classes on a 1-1 basis with gullible middle-aged Spanish Don Juans. She told me she was also a professional life coach! Oh lordy, another one of those BS dreamers with a slender grip on reality who had barely had a life of their own, let alone a successful one. And as if to prove that this jumped up little Madam was bat-shit crazy to boot, one night she posted herself under the bedroom window of a happily married friend of mine, shouting up to him "Antonio, I want your babies, darling!" Well, Antonio's wife was not over-impressed with that sort of outlandish behavior I can tell you. As for being a professional life coach, some way to go, baby, some way to go.***I also disliked the ex-pats meetings because it seemed to me that a lot of Brits put on airs and graces, trying to pretend that they were a class above everybody else. That sort of nonsense does not sit well with me. And it is even worse after they have had a few drinks of alcohol. I remember all too well once being in a bar with a female friend having a social chat. Some drunken British idiot from the south of England, who I did not know from Adam, overheard what was in fact a private conversation. Out of nothing more than stupified paranoia he deluded himself into believing that I was talking about him! He stood up to chastise me.
"I heard what you said about me, you bastard!"
"I beg your pardon? I don't even know you. What the hell are you talking about, you drunken bloody fool?"
He stepped closer toward me and puffed out his chest, limbering up for a fight. I told him to piss off before I put him on his arse. He suddenly thought better of it and turned and made himself scarce. Two minutes later his equally drunken wife came to speak to me.
"I'm sorry about my husband's behavior toward you. It's just that... with you being from Scotland....."
"Oh, good lord! Listen, madam, I am not from Scotland, not unless the Scots have moved the border a hundred miles south to include Liverpool and Manchester, but I would be very proud if I was. It is an amazing country and the people are fantastic, in my experience. Please, just stop making fools of yourselves and go home and sober up.
Sadly, over the years of being abroad, the British in general have not over-impressed me with their behavior. A time or two I have even felt compelled to either deny being British or apologize for being from the United Kingdom.
I do realize that not all Brits are the same, and in fact, I do have quite a few lovely British friends who fly the flag of decency for all of us. I just wish the fools among us would stay at home instead of giving us all a bad name abroad.
In the final analysis, I must recognize that maybe my experience of these types of social events is not the norm, I really don't know. Perhaps other people have had a completely different, more positive, rewarding experience.
All that being said, I do believe that lots of people from all over the world have a tendency to misbehave when far from their own backyard. Possibly they think that nobody will notice, and even if they do, who gives a shit? They can always go back home untainted by the experience. I would certainly be interested to hear from others who have lived abroad, to hear if their experience has been different from mine.
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