For the most part, the rules that apply to traveling overseas aren't all that different from the rules for traveling around Georgia. Certain things apply across the board: drive on the correct side of the road, don't yell "Go Dawgs" at a crowded soccer match, and take your time when deciding which bathroom is for men and which is for women.
But more important than knowing which restroom to use, it's a good idea to have a working knowledge of the American Rules Of Language. That's where I think I ran into trouble on my most recent trip to Spain.
Initially, I was functioning fairly well in my new environment. But then I got up one morning and called the front desk to make a simple request, "I need an iron and an ironing board." My request was met with a questioning sound in another language.
As a general rule, talking loudly to someone who doesn't speak your language doesn't really help. Even so, it is the first of the American Rules and it is as inevitable as the sun rising. It has something to do with the a little known language theory that suggests that the "language barrier" can be broken down by gradually increasing the volume of one's voice.
The lady on other end ignored my mindless yelling and insisted on responding in her native tongue. She obviously had no interest in breaking down the language barrier because she never raised her own voice. As a result, neither of us could understand what was being said by the other.
I tried again, and this time I not only shouted, but I also slowed my speech down under a secondary language theory that states that if someone doesn't speak your language, you can slow it down for them and they will somehow be able to absorb what you are saying through their skin. I gave it a shot, "I ... need... an... iron... and... a... board ... please."
At that point, there was much discussion in the background. It was almost as if an entire committee had been formed to decipher my speech patterns. I waited patiently for my simple need to be absorbed into their blood stream and to travel to their collective brains. After a moment, a new voice came on the line.
"Yes," the new voice said eagerly. At last, I thought, someone who can understand my language.
"I would like an iron and a board in my room," I offered.
"Yes?," was the questioning response.
Trying to be helpful, I resorted to the third and last of the American Language Shortcuts. In other words, I added the letter "o" to the end of each word, "I want-o an iron-o in my room-o." Surely, they would be dazzled, I thought-o.
In response there was an animated discussion in the background until finally the same pleasant voice returned to the line and asked, "You wish potatoes with your order?"
At that point, I realized that there were some essential flaws with the language theories that I had been using and that there was a great chance that I was on the verge of an international incident resulting in permanent imprisonment in a dungeon. All things considered, I felt as though it was best if I avoided such.
"Yes, potatoes would be fine." I answered.
As it turned out, the potatoes were delicious. And in the end, wearing wrinkled clothes for the rest of the trip wasn't all that big a deal. It was the least I could do for global harmony.
http://accesswdun.com/article/2002/9/189806