Trade a beer, make a deal

Tucked at the end of a cobblestone street, just around the bend from the Houses of Parliament, an aged pub sits like any other. Inside, a heavy, dusty bell sits in the shadows. Waiting.

It rings seldom, this bell, but with purpose. This is the Members of Parliament’s pub. And on the days they skip session, in search of a pint and a good conversation before a big vote, the bell reminds them when it’s time to get back to business.

Eight minutes, the ring means. Eight minutes to get back in time. The drunker you are, the better.

It shows a bit of the British mindset: work professionally, but not always too seriously. Have a pint with lunch, or hold a happy hour at the office. Don’t skimp on the ales.

They say it’s this last one that helps the country run so smoothly. It’s this last one, then, that’s fueling the Brits’ disbelief toward America these days.

While I’m here, there’s no hiding my roots. I can’t say five words before it’s clear where I’m from.

They all notice the accent, all want to know what I think about their rain and markets and double-decker buses. Recently, though, the Brits only have one question.

“What’s the deal with your government these days?”

They always frame it that way: “my” government. As if I own it. As if I or anyone can explain the nonsense going on in Washington.

“Nonsense is the operative word,” one says.

They aren’t interested in the details. From here, all they see is the world’s most powerful nation collapsing under the weight of its own hardheadedness. They see America as that weird, distant aunt — the colonies that broke away, dumped the tea in the ocean and then downgraded their language.

And now, we’re bordering on becoming the international laughingstock.

“It must be awfully dark around there these days,” a colleague laughs, when I tell him I’m from D.C.

“Your politics are quite funny, you guys,” says another. “Your politicians are like little children.”

A third, by the time I’m about to start spewing high school Spanish and pretending I’m from Madrid, has kinder words.

“I like Americans,” he says. “I think you’re very welcoming people.
“But things like this make it so easy to have a go at Americans — to really just bash them.”

They don’t get it. They can’t begin to fathom it, to imagine political polarization dramatic enough to paralyze an entire system and bring a country to a screeching halt.

“I just want the shutdown to go away,” a friend in the States said the other day. “I want to be able to talk about something else.” But here, we can’t talk about America in any other capacity — not as long as the shutdown drags on. We’re left to gear ourselves up, fight against the ridicule, start arguments in defense of the nonsense.

Or we can simply take a step back, look for a compromise. And we can have another beer.