There ain't no voices louder than the one inside your head

In a decade or so of spending almost all my time in consciously international settings (even if they're only "international" to me), I've run into a couple of recurring oddities. One of these is Canadians bearing tales of how excessively friendly other people suddenly become when they say they're not Americans. I don't doubt that it really does happen now and then, but seeing as I have never been treated rudely for being American while I was elsewhere in the world - that's right, not a single time - I have a hard time believing it happens as frequently as they seem to think it does.

I ran into another incidence of that tonight, with a Canadian woman I had dinner with after a supply chain conference. (Yes, the conference was just as boring as you're probably thinking. But a job's a job, and I ate and drank for free!) We got to talking politics, of course, and when she gave me the usual snide remark about how Americans will never elect a black man president (and became even more skeptical when I said I expected Obama to name Gov. Sibelius of Kansas his VP nominee - "There's no way America will elect a black man and a white woman!"), I bet her $10 that Obama would win.

The story only begins there. You see, after we shook on the bet, we got to talking about the election in more detail, and only then did she discover how closely I follow politics. She could have picked up on it earlier if she'd paid a bit more attention; I mislead nobody. Perhaps feeling a bit insecure now that she realized the bet was a fairly informed one on my part, she delved into some personal anecdote about somebody, somewhere, sometime, who had asked if she was American and, on finding she wasn't, gushed about how wonderful that was. Which took away any sympathy I might have felt earlier on toward her for entering into a bet with someone who knew a lot more about the issue at hand than she did. "I'm sure you know you're not very popular in the outside world," she chirped, in response to which I explained that I've lived overseas for four of the past five years and have never been mistreated by anybody who knew where I was from.

Like I said, I don't doubt that it does happen, but does it happen that often? I have my doubts. For what it's worth, I've been on the receiving end of the same reaction once, when a guy at a bar in Paris found out I was American. He asked if I was English, and on finding out I wasn't, he let loose with a tirade about les rosbifs and then paid my bar tab.

I took the snotty comment as a compliment in disguise, though, because really, my rattling off of a dry list of statistics about states that haven't gone Democratic since 1964 where Obama is now ahead in the polls rounds out my trilogy of the best comebacks ever.

The others? One of them featured almost exactly the same dynamic, actually: during the Monica Lewinsky mess, a Canadian gal I knew remarked that "Hillary ought to be running the country, but Americans aren't ready for a woman president. Jerks." All I had to do was say "Kim Campbell" and, well, I've never seen anybody bus her tray and disappear quite that quickly. The other involved a guy at a party who overheard me say I was a Jimmy Buffett fan..."Oh yeah?" he asked incredulously, "Name three of his songs!" The printed word can't do justice to his tone, which made it clear that he was certain I would name "Margaritaville" and maybe "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and then get stuck. Instead, I rattled off three extremely obscure songs, one of which has never even been released officially, and of course he accused me of making them up. I got as far as explaining the story behind two of the three (if any parrotheads are reading this and wondering, they were "Don't Bring Me Candy," "Richard Frost," and "Peddlers and Pushers") before the guy suddenly remembered he needed another beer and never returned.

Careful who you question, folks!