09.09.06 smart casual

The Ramp Up

Today we were supposed to go down to London for tea, that did not work out, but several other things did, so I suppose it was a good day, all told. We got up at 9ish, went up to town to get a hairdryer and curling iron for mom (and ultimately Reba), and I sent mom walking home by herself so I could visit HSBC. Sigh. You can read all about my previous exploits regarding HSBC Offshore in another posting, but to sum up my prior HSBC dealings: in trying to obtain a UK bank account from the US, I ended up getting a weird semi-UK bank account through the offshore branch of HSBC, a major UK bank. This has worked pretty well so far because I didn’t have to travel to the UK to fund it, I got checks, funny euro debit cards, a credit card, etc., all when I was still in the US, and so I was ready to rock when I got here. Almost.

It turns out that certain debit card based transactions require a card tied to an onshore UK bank. These include “top up” features for pay-as-you-go phones, probably some other things I don’t know about yet, and most notoriously this week: BT Broadband payments. British Telecom is the phone service provider, and for phone service, they can take payment via a check, cash, visa, mastercard, debit card or probably in pints if you ask nicely. They are also the only broadband provider for my building, but will not take payment for broadband via any mechanism other than a UK bank debit card. That’s it, there are no other options. Believe me, I’ve tried to find them, and there are none. So, today, after probably 4 hours of phone calls over the last week to BT bitching, pleading, sounding annoyed, etc., I actually went in and opened an onshore account just so I could pay BT Broadband with it. I had assumed that this would be impossible, as I had been instructed by someone over the last year, I forget exactly who, that in order to open an onshore account, I would have to have proof of residence in the form of 3 months worth of utility bills. Actually, this is totally and categorically NOT true. I walked in with a receipt from Finders Keepers, my rental agency, my acceptance letter to Oxford, and my passport, and 2 hours later (seriously) I had a bank account. I rather comically had to write myself a check from my HSBC offshore account to my HSBC onshore account, but it worked, and now I have a UK bank account, or more importantly: a UK bank account number and sort code, which is basically what a debit card has written on it. I called the BT billing guy with this new info and voila! I had direct debit set up and would be receiving broadband on sept 12th. Yay!

After this HSBC nonsense, I spent some time getting maps together for the trip to Ireland this Sunday, and by the time I was done, it was way too late to get down to London, and I had to cancel the reservations for afternoon tea. To make up for this, mom and I went to Gee’s, an actually good English restaurant in town. I have to say that the dish I had was totally awesome, combining the heartiness and simplicity of English cooking with the ingredient and preparation quality that I expect in a continental (or even northwest?) setting. They rock, I’m going back. We dressed up, caught a cab there, and then walked back. Nice.

Next, I hooked up with Michael, my mentor at business school. We all get assigned someone from last year’s program to help guide us through, answer questions, etc., and Michael is my dude. He was out with his folks, buddies, and wife because tomorrow is graduation day for the 2005–2006 class. He’s a really swell guy, and even during our semi-drunken conversation surrounded by distractions, I picked up some really good info. We’re going to hook up for questions/pints when I get back from Ireland next week. Plus, his wife offered to email with Reba about any questions she had, so that will be really useful as well. She had lots of good advice about how Reba can meet folks, be involved with other “partners” (wives, etc.), and even be involved with college/school events and stuff. I feel a lot better about that after talking to her, I want Reebs to have a good experience and have lots of fun, not feel like school is coming between us or isolating her or whatever.

The S.C. Smackdown

Ok, here’s the smart casual part. I split from the pub that I was at with Michael and company when it closed at midnight, and called Shelby and her man Pawi to see if they wanted to hook up for a drink. Shelby’s in the program, and Pawi is going to architecture school here in town as well. They were down, so we all met at “the castle” which is pretty much Oxford Castle, which I think is pretty much hilarious.

Oxford Castle, a one act play by Ean Hernandez

[curtain]

“Hey dude, wanna get a beer?”

“Yah, sure. Where do you wanna meet?”

“Meet me in front of the castle.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Don’t forget to take a left turn at the enchanted wood and watch out for the dragon…”

“Oh yeah… right on. … Dragon.”

[curtain]

So we met at the OxC, and headed out for a drink. This is where I learned some more Brit-culture knowledge the hard way. Dig it:

Pub: this is a sort of drinky British surrogate living room where they serve beer, wine and liquor; it’s open all day, closes at midnight, and you can dress like whatever (i.e. like I do). Usually decorated in late medieval decor and named the “something and something else”. Like maybe “the george and dragon”, “the eagle and child”, or “the cock and camel” (seriously), etc. People hang out here watching TV, chatting with pals, or whatever. Seriously, it’s like a community living room.

Bar: this is sort of a “fancy” euro-style joint where they serve beer, wine and liquor; it’s open all day, closes at 2 or 3am, and you have to wear smart casual (see below). Usually decorated in “club” decor or maybe even “strip mall club” decor, and named something arty/gayish/ambiguous like “montage” or “icon” or “super” or whatever. People hanging out here feeling slightly more classy/modern than they do in pubs.

Smart Casual: apparently this is when you wear jeans or other long pants and some sort of black “I’m going out tonight” type of shirt with your running shoes.

After going out to a pub (with Michael and co.) wearing shorts and running shoes, I tried to get into a bar wearing the same. The tough dude at the door in the all black suit, shirt and tie ensemble wagged his finger at me with this sort of asshole kungfu finger wagging gesture… kind of like when Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris are about to fight in Enter the Dragon, and Bruce wags his index finger at Chuck while making that high pitched yowling sound? Yep, that same gesture, but more exasperated. Then, the blackity-black dude stopped exasper-waving his finger at me and pointed at my legs, saying something about “smart casual”, and looking at me like I simply had to be FUCK-ing kidding thinking that I could get into his high class modern strip mall ambiguously named bar without long pants. The fuckhead even had a secret service style ear piece radio stuck in his ear. I guess some things are the same wherever you go.

Pawi filled me in on the definitions above, and now I know.

Pawi and Shelby are really nice and walked me home anyway, even though I called them out for a drinking excursion that died on the table due to my bare, pale, hairy legs.

Special to AJ… you have been duly warned: If you wanna drink after midnight in Blighty, get some pants, yo.

not smart casual