Running From Beer Bottles and Rocks
Americans have several different views on other countries. The people who seem to criticize these other cultures are mostly people who haven't been to these countries and have the typical "I'm better than you attitude." Just because our country is one of the top military and political powers in the world, does not give us the clearance nor justify us thinking we should have special favors or unearned respect from the people in their own lands when we are the intruder. When those disrespectful Americans go to these societies they give our whole country a bad name. Just like Newton's 2nd law, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, the product of our insolence is our rudeness thrown right back in our face. The only reason the locals in far off places that have been so unlucky to have encountered some of our nations immature residence continue to tolerate our presence is mostly due to our money and all the useless wooden bowls, chincy necklaces, and other over priced ethnic crafts that we oddly enough find interesting and will pay top dollar for. This attitude can be extremely dangerous shown to th
It was a beer bottle thrown from a few of the same men that hunted us before. Once we got through the thicker part of the crowd, we began to scurry back to the van. We suddenly found ourselves going through stoplights and not yielding to anyone who wanted to cross our path. We got to our destination, Waxie O'Conners, an Irish pub that seemed to produce more crime every night. I was opening the door to the van before we even came to a halt to let them in. Casey and I struggled our way through the ring of angry onlookers. Casey told me "Jeb, break her grip and run. When you're in another culture the best way to keep safe is not advertising you're a tourist and accepting and complying with their local customs. It felt like I was going back in time to an old Gangster movie. Because of the several blocks of legal whorehouses on one side of the main boulevard and the filthy bar scene on the adjacent side, everyone justifiably called it "The Gut. I liked to take pictures of all the different countries I go to, so I thought photographs of this poverty and decay would be nice to have on film. " All I could concentrate on was calming her down and trying to explain that the picture was just for fun. Only seconds later did a couple more bottles strike the van along with a couple of small objects, that I believed to be rocks. Apparently she understood English but would not lower herself to speak our language except to tell us how much lire we owed her.
Common topics in this essay:
O'Conners Irish,
African Prostitutes,
Irish Cream,
Sicily Mafia,
Rocks Americans,
Sigonella Sicily,
Station Gut,
United Navy,
Italians Americans,
Mediterranean Sea,
didn't understand,
learn hard,
sea stories,
beer bottles,
jason cal,
main boulevard,
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Acceptance Essays
