Note: Originally published in ArgoVerge magazine.

I had been in Pensacola, Florida, for less than 20 minutes. I had jumped into a cab to head to my new apartment with roommates that I had found on Craigslist. Nerves were a factor.

As we journeyed on, I saw a store and suddenly thought to ask the driver what I thought was a simple question: “Do you know where I can pick up some fags mate?”

The driver turned to stare at me with such shock and horror I felt like I’d just stabbed his mum.

For the uninitiated, “fags” aren’t what small-minded people label others in a derogatory fashion, instead they are much more simply: cigarettes.

Just a few minutes in, and I had already experienced culture shock.

It’s not just language that can throw off us foreigners (or “aliens” as the charming American officials delightfully refer to us as).

Americans are far friendlier than British people. Talking to each other here in an elevator is far less panic inducing than in London, where sharing pleasantries with someone you don’t know is akin to pulling your trousers down and doing jumping jacks.

I first encountered this friendliness in an odd scenario. I was in a bar bathroom at the urinal doing what men do, when a man next to me randomly piped up with a chirpy “How ya doin?”

“I’m having a piss mate, what about you?” I replied, stunned.

But that’s Americans for you, never ones to shy away from conversation. They’re always happy to share their views, so it’s no surprise to see so many happy to stand and preach on the street. Sometimes, if they’re really dedicated, they’ll wear big sandwich boards over their chests with cheerful messages like “BURN!”

On my first day in the Florida sun, I was walking down the street when I was waiting to cross the road and a man approached me. Perfect, I thought, I could ask him for directions.

The following was the basic gist of the dialogue we shared; please note that words in capitals represent volume:

“HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT THE WORD OF JESUS CHRIST OUR LORD?”

“Erm… have I heard of him? Yea… bloke in the Bible isn’t he?”
“YOU DON’T KNOW JESUS CHRIST!?”

“Well, not personally but I read a bit of his book?”

I never got any directions. Unless of course you count the direction to “go to Hell,” repeated over and over like a feral baboon going mad with a crucifix.

It is not just in public where Americans get strange. I’ve seen the movies, I know American parties are meant to give me red cups and have me ‘chugging’ beers, but the phenomenon known as beer pong had always escaped me.

It is an interesting concept, to throw a ball in a cup and then drink. Lots of fun and all that but do you not think it is a bit like putting an obstacle in the way of your beverage? If your mission is to get drunk (and we all know you’re not drinking for the taste now, are you) then why make it harder for yourself?

Let’s just lose the cups and focus on the real game, which is of course just drinking itself. It’s a simple game, with simple rules; you all drink and the winner is the person who doesn’t have to drive home.

Being in America has provided me with more differences that I ever anticipated. After all, there are GUNS here. I remain quietly confident a man could take over England and remove the Queen from the throne with a mildly powerful catapult if he so wished. Over here, I’ve encountered so many pro-gun people. I went to a shooting range, where these huge testosterone filled men swapped different names and labels of guns, and I was trying to think of a smarter sounding gun than a ‘rooty-tooty, point and shooty’.

But sure, if we get past the fact that Americans are all so bloody cheerful, and the fact that you all tip far too much (I have had one too many occasions of staring at a pizza delivery guy wondering why he hasn’t left my doorstep yet), I’m glad I came here.

I have learned that talking to strangers is not actually going to result in the apocalypse. I have learned that just because you have a drink in your hand does not mean you have to consume it as soon as you possibly can. I’ve learned that you do not have to use the ‘F-word’ in every sentence, (and of course, to try and save the ‘C-word’ for special occasions only).

Britain is great. It’s fun, it’s weird and we don’t all have dazzling white teeth. Yet America has it’s own weird charm, like a child wandering into the forest (where he has to worry about getting mistaken for a moose and shot, because as I mentioned above, you are all gun mad), Americans seem to be filled with wonder.

I like it.