Times When I Feel Polish
- When I expect the trash can at a friend’s house to be under the sink.
- When I’m generally surprised and confused to find that it isn’t.
- “Are you Russian?”
- “Are you sure?”
- “Wait, where’s Poland?”
- “Do you guys have the internet over there?”
- The inevitable twinge of rage when people don’t take their shoes off upon entering the house.
- When I order a drink without ice and the bartender looks at me weird.
- When I ask them to make it a little stronger and get charged double.
- When being a vegetarian means I can only eat salad and bread at family functions.
- When my family thinks that’s all I eat in real life.
- Confusion and dismay when an American wedding ends at midnight.
- Getting the urge to ask if there’s an after party.
- Wanting to get married partly for the 24-hour mini-rave that is a Polish wedding.
- “Say something in Polish.”
- “I don’t care, just say something!”
- “Oh wait my mom’s on the phone, can you say it again? Here.”
- “Yak she mash…? Did I say that right?”
- “How are you drunk already?! You’re Polish!”
- Feeling proud that John Paul II was Polish for some reason.
- Still being made to go to church on Christmas and Easter.
- Still being elbowed in the ribs for chewing gum in church.
- Still not understanding the point of an Easter basket.
- Also not understanding why people with garages leave their cars out on the driveway.
- When people ask if I’m a natural blonde.
- When I say yes and they don’t believe me.
- When I think it’s totally normal to make a pizza with ketchup instead of pizza sauce.
- When someone asks me what’s in blood sausage.
- When they get irritated because all I know is “blood.”
- When my friends come over and I automatically ask what they want to eat.
- Having to stop myself from correcting people when they say “pierogies” instead of “pierogi.”
- “When did you come to America?”
- “Oh, so you’re American.”
- When I use the “I’m Polish” excuse for everything from hating peanut butter and jelly
- sandwiches to never having seen Star Wars.
- When people use the “I’m Polish” excuse for me – as in, “You wouldn’t know, you’re Polish.”
- When I get offended by that even though sometimes they’re right.
- Genuine disappointment when I meet someone Polish who doesn’t speak it.
- Even worse disappointment when they can but don’t want to.
- When people assume that I know stuff about soccer.
- When I have no idea about soccer but party on game days anyway.
- When my #1 choice of neighborhood is actually Greenpoint.
- No, I’m not kidding.
- When people ask if I’m moving back to Poland even though I haven’t lived there for 18 years.
- “So do you guys still hate Germany?”
You should follow Thought Catalog on Twitter here.
A | A | A
The best thing about being a young adult right now is that you, more than any previous generation, have the freedom and the resources to create your own religion. So, let’s get started.
The apartment you lived in your first year out of school, the walk-up with a view of the street.
I wanted to quit my job. I hated my boss.
His eyes widened, he became angry, and backed off of me. I told him he could leave now. Now. He said “With you being a good Christian girl, and me studying to be a priest, I think it’s important we not tell anyone what we did.”