Done Talking About It.

I had an experience for four months in college from which I’ve wrung more than 12 years of memories, stories, anecdotes, comparisons, contrasts, nostalgia, reminiscences, reveries, accents, jokes, and one-upsmanship. In the course of a dozen years, I have bored, literally, hundreds of people… or, more likely, a few dozen people hundreds of times. If you knew me for more than a couple of hours, it was likely that you would hear the words that now send chills down the spines of afflicted family and friends whose only sin was feigning interest in the first place, or even just being present at the wrong time:

“When I was in England…”

Even now, there are readers spinning away from their screens, arms wrapped around their knees, rocking uncontrollably and spouting gibberish. NOT AGAIN!! ANYTHING BUT THAT!!

I can only hope to comfort them with the assurance that this is the last time. Unless the subject is absolutely inescapable, such as someone asking me “Say, Joel, did you ever study abroad?” or “Tell me, Joel, what foreign countries have you been to?” or “Just where were you during the majority of the OJ Simpson trial, and why don’t you know how to do the Macarena?”, then I am not bringing it up. After this, it’s ancient history. Really, it’s ancient history now, but being the defining experience of my formative years has allowed me to keep from growing up and getting over it. Then I’d be just like everyone else who went to college and traveled abroad. You know, the folks who don’t have to talk about it all the time because they’ve accomplished something other than purchasing a plane ticket.

I spent one semester at the University of Wolverhampton outside of Birmingham. My school had a direct exchange, and this was one of two I could get into with my grades. When asked by students there why I chose Wolverhampton, for heaven’s sake, and I’d tell them the other option, they would immediately say “OH!” and nod their heads in understanding.

Here is a list of stuff I’ve remembered and prattled on endlessly about:

• I skipped orientation to stay with a friend I’d met at school who now lived in Brighton. When I got to Wolverhampton I had no idea where I was supposed to go or stay. I imposed on another person I’d met for 5 minutes outside of the Study Abroad office at home, and she took me to campus. I stayed my first night in a temporary room, knowing no one. I finally met the other Americans two days later.
• I had a single room with a sink in it. I was next door to the RA, but he didn’t know anyone was living in my room for the first two months.
• Birmingham is in the industrial area of England, and is not the bucolic countryside you always see in travel ads. It was like going to school in Akron. The accent there is amazingly thick and difficult for me. To say hello, they would say “You alright? How are you?”, but it came out “Ye’Roit? Ow am yeh?”
• I had hair to my shoulders and a full beard. While there, I shaved on a bet, weeks after the bet was made, when I ran out of money.
• We (my American friends and the English who didn’t detest us) occasionally went to a local pub where students never went, played darts, and drank a foul, unfiltered cider called Scrumpy.
• We (see above) went on a tour to Oxford. I had no idea what I was looking at. I turned down a tour of one of the colleges because it cost a pound, and I would’ve rather spent it on beer.
• I spent a night in Oxford on a separate occasion. After meeting up with H in London (she was on a short trip), we rode back to Oxford together, and she got off the bus early to stay with a friend who went there. At the bus station, I eventually figured out that I’d missed the last train. I had no idea how to find H, so I stayed in a hostel on the outskirts of town that night and the next morning walked the several miles back to the train station in the new boots I’d worn all over London which had given me blisters. Later, I lost the boots. They were Dr. Marten’s. I was sad.
• I saw the Royal Shakespeare Co. do Taming of the Shrew at Stratford on Avon. As a theater major, and being drunk, I was totally depressed by the amazing performances. I later denounced all similar big productions as “mindless entertainment” after seeing minimalist agitprop theater at school. This informed my elitist rationalizations for avoiding auditions and rejection for years.
• I skipped a weekend student trip to Edinburgh because it cost 40 pounds. All my friends who went informed me on their return that the Edinburgh Festival was going on while they were there.
• I traveled in Ireland for a week with two other Americans over Easter break. Dublin’s hostel was in a bad part of town, and we took a day hike out to a waterfall. Next, from Cork, we went to Blarney Castle and kissed the Blarney Stone. Then we went to Killarney, having been told that there was a festival going on with lots of students, to find that there was no such thing, so we did a day hike in the Gap of Dunloe. That night we walked to the pub in town, and had to crawl in through the window when we got back. We spent a night in Galway, but I don’t remember what we did. Our last night in Dublin was spent in a shady B&B because we hadn’t called ahead to the hostel.
• Also over Easter break, an American friend at Wolverhampton met another American in the south of France. After talking, they realized that they both knew me.
• I came home with 40 records in my backpack.
• The campus where I lived, Dudley, is no longer part of the University.

I’m sure there’s more, but, really, this should do it. Obviously, I loved the experience and it changed my life, despite squandering many opportunities and not keeping in touch with a single person I’d met there. If anyone reading this remembers me, and/or that time, I’d love to hear from you. However, having stretched the legacy of that trip into 40 times the length of the trip itself, it’s time to let the stories go.