You don't know what you've got till you hop across the Pacific

Hi, folks--
My first term at the University of Wollongong is coming to a close, so I thought I'd share a few writing samples. It's really just to show those naysayers out there that I'm not on an extended vacation. You know who you are.

I'll put more up within the upcoming weeks, but the piece below is an opinion column for my feature writing class. I actually don't have to turn this one in for another week, so if anyone notices any glaring mistakes, please let me know.

And yes, Australian men do wear skinny jeans.
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Sorry sheila, no well-mannered men here

Everything is bigger in America—even the grocery aisles.

At Australian grocery chain, Woolworth’s, you can only fit two trolleys across one aisle. A bit tricky at times, but it works if people cooperate.

However, I recently found myself barricaded in the Italian section. Two lads, who found it absolutely necessary to walk side-by-side, parked their trolleys in front of me while conversing about the merits of Woolie’s pasta sauce selection.

I know. Everything is bigger in America. But it makes you wonder which country really needs the wider aisles.

Australian men, whether they care to admit it, are just plain rude.

Go ahead, Aussies—criticise our loud mouths, our president and our addiction to fast food, but we’ve got you beat in the male department.

And until now, I never even knew it.

Growing up in America’s heartland, I was surrounded by courteous men.

Back home, men hold doors, not just for their own wives and children but also for others approaching. They apologise if they accidentally bump into someone. They say “thank you.”

At church, my dad would stand aside as my mom, sisters and I lined up for communion. A born and bred Midwesterner, politeness is part of my dad’s programming.

I can only imagine what he’d think if I brought an Aussie bloke home.

American women always moan about American men—they don’t dress well enough, don’t pay enough attention to their partner, work too much, spend too much time camped out on the couch watching football.

They whine about how happy foreign women must be.

Now, I can’t speak for all countries, but I can speak for two. And I’ve got a message for my ungrateful Yank friends: Be thankful you’re not an Australian sheila.

I’ve only been here four months, and obviously not every Australian man is deserving of my lashing. But this nation has a universal reputation for its unparalleled friendliness, so naturally I’m stunned that my countrymen are more cordial.

Aussie men have cut in front of me in lines and knocked into me without a hint of care. To them, I’m as good as vapor.

And this is hardly a generational problem. The younger Aussie blokes had to learn from someone.

I still remember when a 40-something man flagged me down at my gym.

“Oy!” he shouted. “Where are the basketball courts?”

“Right around the corner, first set of doors on the left,” I replied.

He turned right around and walked away. Nothing more. Not a single thanks or “ta,” the horrid Aussie alternative to a proper “thank you.”

I see young men walking at university. They gel their hair into perfect spikes. The stay on top of current fashion trends with their 1983 “Risky Business”-style sunnies. They wear skinny jeans. They sculpt a well-crafted “look.”

If these blokes put equal effort into their demeanor as they do their dress, Australia would harbour the greatest wealth of quality men the world’s ever seen.

What’s most unfortunate is it’s a waste of a gorgeous accent. Sure the speech is smooth, but I’d rather spend my time with a well-mannered man with an obnoxiously thick Alabama drawl than an inconsiderate Sydney bloke with a voice like butter. It’s a shame.

Maybe I’m being a difficult American female. We demand equal treatment, yet we still expect the same old fashioned respect and chivalry from our boys.

I might be asking too much. This could be one giant overreaction. A misunderstanding.

But then again, there are plenty of American men who see it my way. And I know heaps of Aussie women who want to be treated less like they’re invisible and more like a lady.

So blokes, open a door for a sheila tomorrow. And if it’s not too much, try sharing a trolley with your mate on your next trip to Woolie’s.