OK they weren't that old but they were standing outside my tube station (Farringdon Road) dazed and confused pouring over a map. They kept flipping the map around and staring up at the buildings where the street signs are supposed to be. No street signs, its a typical London sign nightmare. You think they could put up some decent signs since the streets are not a grid and who can tell what direction is north (south east or west for that matter) when its a constant level of grey.
Anyway, I asked them if I could help. Not because I'm particularly helpful but because I've worked with a lot of downtown improvement districts and I always like to know where tourists are going.
Lovely couple, they held the map out for me and asked a simple question, "Is this Cow Cross Street?"
"Yes," I replied in my regular voice. I don't know who else's voice I would use but its an important part of the story, that I spoke to them in my regular voice.
"We are trying to find Hix Oyster Bar." It's clearly marked on their map but they are holding the map upside down. I point them in the right direction. They both say thank you and I say "That's fine, I spend a lot of time looking at maps in London." Thinking, how clever of me - I will put them at ease.
As I walk away, the lady says to her husband, "Isn't it funny that a foreigner stopped and helped us."
OMG, these people think I'm a foreigner. So now I have to re-evaluate my entire persona. I'm not just an American - I am a foreigner. My regular voice - which I believe to be a standard sort American perhaps vaguely southern accent - has signaled to these bastions of middle England that I am a foreigner. How exotic.
I'm a foreigner.
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