Trash Talkin - Culture Shock USA

By: Nicole Morgan

Packing boxes, saying goodbyes, buying books, so much familiar territory in recent years. But the one that made the biggest impact was the one with just two people, moving across the world for a fresh beginning. We arrived in our new country early Summer of 1994 to a city teeming with people from all over the world. Born in Europe and raised in Africa, Washington DC was a veritable melting pot of the nations and I immediately fell in love with the hustle, and diversity. In the first month or two of this part of the world becoming our home, we were hotel bound. We rented a house only hours after our arrival, but it was not yet available. Our three felines had remained at a cat hotel in South Africa. Yes, an actual hotel where they had beds, a dresser to hide their litter box, a porch, even little hammocks to help them adjust to the sudden abandonment issues the quirky owner assured us would follow. My angst at leaving them was soon far from my mind with the realisation that I was about to enjoy a spell of not vacuuming cat hair, having someone else bring fresh sheets and a stranger to make the bed everyday.

May brought a crushing heatwave to the city, schools were closed, and builders worked from 5am til 3pm. The news flashes reminded people to stay indoors as much as possible which seemed a strange announcement for someone who had just moved from Africa. A haze lifted from the steamy sidewalks, and storm drains were most noticeable with an overpowering stench. We were literally disappearing in a mist of sweaty heat and often cloudy skies.

So what does a girl do in a foreign country when she doesn't know a soul?
She puts on her pj's and opens the mini bar.
Then settles in for several afternoons of American television.
And what a sight those shows were to behold.
Like nothing I had ever seen before.
My jaw dropped every minute.
My brain was ready to implode.
With my nerves rattled, my confidence in my new home shattered, I picked up the phone.
Like ET I had a need to call home.
I feared for my future.
I called. The Mothership answered.
I will never make friends in this country ... what is wrong with these people? I cried, I wailed ...

If you slept with your sister's husband's brothers father once removed and were now having a baby or two altho you had given one up for adoption after your cheating, lying stepmom threw you out of the house for stealing her purse and making out with her new boyfriends uncle ... did you really want the whole country to know about it on National Television? Apparently the answer was a resounding yes. There were just so many who felt the need to air their 'dirty, filthy, did they really do that laundry' for all to see but simply hid it under the guise of TalkTV.

Geraldo made one cringe with the theatrics, and even had his nose broken in what quickly became known as the beginning of Trash TV. Maury seemed a kindly uncle in spite of all those paternity tests. There was Leeza who flashed her sympathetic smile and Sally Jesse Raphael who had a way about her that sort of patted you on the head and said, now, now dear ... it will be alright. But I feared after several episodes of Ricki Lake (before she made herself over and went all social media hip) that these were now my peers. There was Montell who couldn't decide if he was a feel good kind of show, or who had been feeling who kind of show. Jerry Springer at the time had a tagline of 'an hour of your life you'll never get back', while TV Guide voted it Worst TV show ever. Let us not forget Jenny Jones and her surprise who is your crush guest which led to a murder and a multimillion $$$ payout.
(You know, ... insert stage whisper ... even Oprah erred a little on the side on skanky in the 90's.)

I was crushed. This was the enlightened America I had heard so much about? These awful people who were being pulled apart on stage, behaving like animals and screaming at eachother?
How could this be? How would I fit in?
What would I do?

A few days later, I mentioned this frightening phenomenon to a friend of the family. She was at med school, recorded her fav tv shows and laughed at my concerns. She assured me that those people were out there but that the true beauty of American Television was to be found in soaps. Shows that had run for years and years, as American as apple pie.

But what was this thing of which she spoke?
So the next day I found them and I watched.
And watched.

I soon learned that I could leave the country on a two week trip and someone would be possessed by the devil and then brought back from the dead. In fact, people were often brought back from the dead. They were beautiful people in spite of their backstabbing ways, living in gorgeous homes and driving dream cars. Characters still slept with their sister's husband's brothers father once removed, but they had coiffed hair, perfect teeth and wore designer clothes - so it made it all okay. I was hooked.

Now, there are days that I feel as tho I live in a soap opera of my own.
Sadly no one calls make up, or brings me smoothies, or rubs my feet.
My daily soap opera life, makes me believe I truly have embraced this culture.
You know, now that I am over the shock.

And as always,