Cleveland Heights has been my home for the last eighteen months. Previously, I was living in Paris, before that in London. France and England respectively, not Texas and Canada. In Paris, I was working as an English teacher. Most of my students were professionals, learning English for professional reasons, many of whom were readying themselves for their first work-related meetings with Americans. So, naturally, a large part of the lessons consisted of cultural coaching which proved a lot of fun for an Englishman working with cosmopolitan French professionals. Among the many things to distinguish the French, for better or worse, is their willingness to share their opinions. And for the last few hundred years, they have been particularly opinionated about the USA. George W. Bush’s statement ‘the French don’t even have a word for “entrepreneur”’ certainly raised eyebrows. But I must say that in five years, I didn’t meet one person who didn’t enjoy working with their transatlantic cousins.

So, how does Cleveland Heights differ from Paris? Architecture notwithstanding, the first difference is the reception. Visit most cafes in Paris and it’s a fight to get the attention of the staff. On my first visit here, I received the most polite rude awakening I can remember. I wanted to see my soccer team (Liverpool if you’re interested) in the Champions League. My search for a sports bar led me to the Winking Lizard on Coventry. Peering through the window, I saw a Manchester United game was being shown. Despite this, I went in to ask about the next day’s match. Within seconds an incredibly enthusiastic waitress had pounced and asked ‘Hi! How are you? Would you like a table?’

Still in a jetlag funk, I found this a little intimidating. But I pulled myself together and asked if they would be showing the game the next day. In Paris, I would expect a Gallic shrug followed by the vague suggestion that I might come back tomorrow. But she told me that she didn’t know, and then scampered off to find out. A minute or so later, she was back, apologizing for not knowing, handing me a business card and saying I should call back. I think she even told me her name and she definitely told me to have a nice day.

I generally offered three pieces of advice to my students before they started working with Americans: be polite, be direct and turn it up. The first two are obvious; the third takes a little more explaining, so here goes.

When I got married in August, my best man flew in to Michigan from Edinburgh. He’d decided to come to the U.S. for three weeks, and for some reason, decided that he did not want to spend all this time in Detroit. So he flew to Vegas and drove through Utah to the Grand Canyon. Along the way, he fell in love with the American diner. He was very surprised by the attention he received from the waiters. Asked how he was enjoying his meal, he gave what would be an acceptable British reply: “it’s OK, thanks.” The response generally caused an amount of consternation on the part of the waiter, “oh, really, what’s wrong?”

So I always advised Parisians to ‘turn it up’ when working with Americans. If something is OK, make it good. If something is good, make it excellent. If something is excellent, make it awesome. If something is awesome, make some noise. By any standards, Paris is an awe-inspiring city. This is why Parisians often hear American tourists before seeing them.