I imagine that in the mind's eye of each person I passed on the street today as I smiled my dumb little North American smile was, 'What is with this slow dumb @#&!. Do I know him? Has he nothing to complain about? Will he ever wake up and realize the suffering around him?'
In fact my smiling seems to put people off. They are thinking, 'Is he a con man, a thief, a salesman, or just stupid?' Then it is announced that I am a Canadian and all is understood and forgiven. You see it is apparently normal for North Americans to wear a stupid grin that is rarely understood and always rouses suspicion.
Well, Europeans should understand that there is a subtly to the smiles they are receiving. Like the vast array of vodka lining the store shelves in every super market, all of which appear to be the same clear potent liquid, our smiles have the same subtly. When we gaze at the store clerk and smile we are not necessarily satisfied. We may be wry, or condescending, or suspicious, or, heaven forbid, happy. You see the same way we in North America find it so difficult to understand the depth of the joy in 'Russian sadness'. Russians, and Europeans in general, seem to be oblivious to the 'Art of Smiling'. Rather than wear a smirk everywhere we walk, seemingly in fear of showing some form of positive emotion, we wear a smile. Do not be fooled. All vodka is not created equal.
I smile the smile of a lover, a friend, a skeptic, a fool, a proud father; a diplomat and you ... smirk knowing not what I think.
Once Denis said to me, "Finally, I am back in Europe where I can wear a suit and not have everyone immediately assume I am a salesman." Well I think my first though on returning to North America may be, "Finally I am back in North America where I can wear a smile and not have everyone assume I am an idiot."
What we need is some Super Monk Scientist to study all the cultures of the world and invent an Emot-o-scope capable of translating actions and reactions of people we meet into the native cultural of the user. Gone forever would be the scowl beneath the hat of the store clerk that doesn’t understand that we do not understand that he does not understand.
Kapish?