What Is Wrong with I-talians?

My friend Sandi said I looked like I just conquered something in this photo. I have only one thing to say to that "Prego!"When people think of interracial relationships they tend to think of the color of one’s skin. But if your relationship with your Latino in-laws is not working, it’s probably not because they have a better tan; it’s more likely because of cultural, not color, differences. So it stands to reason that if I, PWT from the US, dated an I-talian even though we have similar coloring (thanks to Grandma, who was born on the I-talian border), we could still have a significant culture clash. And let me get one thing straight: when I say I-talians I don’t mean Guidos from Staten Island a la Snooki and The Situation from the Jersey Shore.  No, I mean real gen-u-wine I-talians who were born, raised, and now live in Italy. On a recent trip to Rome, I found out that my quasi-Italian heritage did not help me blend in one bit. In fact, even though Italy is a Western world power much like the US, I suffered from a lot of culture shock.

So I write this post not just to share with you my fabulous vacation photos (though that was part of the reason), but to demonstrate that it is culture—not race—that really make the difference in a relationship (and after yesterday’s serious post I thought we could all use a laugh).

I found Italians to be warm, friendly, and stylish people, but I also experienced a lot that was confounding about them. So without further ado I give you “What is wrong with I-talians?”

• Vast overuse of the word “prego.” They use the word “prego” so much you can’t even tell what the actual definition of the word is. You walk into a restaurant: “Prego.” You order food: “Prego.” Walk into a museum: “Prego.” Stand there minding your own business: “Prego.” Take a shit: “Prego.” After a week in Rome I still don’t know what the hell “Prego” means.

• Too many ruins. The Italians have discovered that stupid touristas will come from all over the world to look at piles of dirt and brick that, according to someone (and we don’t know who), may or may not have been around during the time of Nero, Caesar, or some other Roman megalomaniac. The main issue with this, in addition to the vastness of these ruins, is that although we are (supposedly) in a major metropolitan city you go through good shoes quick. One minute you are walking on the sidewalk and the next thing you are up to your ankles in the dirt of ruins. No warning, no nothin’.I am up to my ass in ruins! How the hell do I get out of here.

• No stop lights for pedestrians. This is particularly troubling because pedestrians don’t have the right of way and the traffic is so bad that after waiting a while you realize that you will just have to throw yourself into the flow of traffic or stand there until you yourself become an ancient Roman ruin. 

• Nothing is labeled. Nothing in the ruins or most of the museums, for that matter, have any description (in any language). What are they and why should we give a shit about them? In an American museum they might have a plastic Pez dispenser encased in glass. It may not be old, it may not be a ruin, but by god there would be a three-paragraph description of the purpose and significance of Pez so you could leave the museum knowing at least why you should give a fuck about it!

• They really do play the accordion. Under our hotel window we could hear renditions of “That’s Amoré” and other cheesy old songs. Sometimes they even came into the restaurants (like Italian Mariachis) angling for a tip. 

• The subway no bene. The Romans have a subway just like in Neuva York. That is where the similarities end. In NYC you can get everywhere you need to go on the subway with speed and accuracy. In Rome the subway is just some sort of cruel joke that only tourists seem to participate in. On the map it looks like you go to the main terminal (we assumed that was their version of Penn Station) and then switch from line A to line B. No, no, y no. You have to walk about a half mile underground to get from A to B. The trip is so long you actually exit the subway and then go back in again. Good thing the tickets are good for 75 minutes because you need that much time to walk from line A to B. Just an aside, but yes there is really "Duff beer" in Roma

• Too many nuns. I don’t know why, but nuns have always creeped me out a bit. Maybe it’s that whole wearing a wedding ring and being married to a dead person (or three dead people, I can never keep that straight). Anyway, if you feel similarly uneasy about nuns, be on guard. They are everywhere, in every kind of nun getup, except maybe that of the Flying Nun. (And even though I didn’t see that one, I am sure it’s out there.)

• Italian time. Italians are known for taking their time. Fine, I get that; but Italian time does not always mean that they are late (like it does in Latin time, Indian standard time, or colored people time). No. “Italian time” means whenever they fucking get around to it (or not). Stores open late, close early, or are left unattended for a two-hour lunch in the middle of the day. It doesn’t help if you call ahead. They will say they are open until 8pm and when you get there at 7:30pm they are gone. This is true for restaurants, stores, and even tourist locations. Good thing there is usually a bar or restaurant somewhere close so you can wait for the proprietor to return (but it may be a long wait).

• Hidden charges. They often charge you for things that you expect will “typically” be included in the meal, like bread. There is, of course, the service charge (read: a way for them to sneak in a minimum tip just in case you are not so thrilled with the service). Unlike the dirty French, though, they don’t charge a service fee every time, so you have to check every time so you don’t stiff them.

• Olive oil time limit. You would think in a land known for its olive oil that the stuff would be available in copious amounts. Oh no. To give you an idea, they have 10 bottles of olive oil for 40 tables so you must consume your required amount of olive oil before the waiter snags it for another customer. And you never know when this might be, so I suggest you eat your bread fast.

What is right with I-talians?   They are not French!

Comments

[Food Vigilante]

Funny stuff J.C.! Dating in the rainbow can be a blast, but you're right, problems occur due to culture and/or upbringing, not the color of skin! ~FV

[Racy JC]

Yep thanks a bunch for your comments "Food Vigilante" what a great name - I will have to check out your site. JC

[HitGirl]

Prego means, "yes, what would you like (in a restaurant situation)", "you're welcome", "thank-you", "excuse me", "you first (when letting someone go through a door first)" and "please"

You are right that culture is the cause of more differences than race. Why don't more people realise this?! Shocker, someone's culture has more of an effect on them than the colour of their skin.

Those "hidden charges" they add on for tourists.

[Racy JC]

Thanks HIt Girl Now it all make such sense. I wrote that as a joke to one of my best friend who grew up in Rome and Is aways joking about it. Who knew a post about "white people" would create such a stir. ha ha. Thanks for your comments. JC