When I was studying in London I realized there are a number of big differences between the English and Americans. You're thinking No duh, big woop! Yeah they call bathrooms loos and elevators lifts - and I still can't get things straight when it comes to pants/knickers/trousers...They drive on the left and have no traffic pattern on sidewalks.
So why should being picked up in bars be the same there as it is here? During my Junior year in college, I decided to take a hike over the Atlantic and study abroad. I chose beautiful Goldsmith's College, part of the University of London. Its concrete campus is tucked into the ghetto of New Cross.
Immediately my newfound friends and I adopted Goldsmith's Tavern (GMT - why is was not called GT or GST, we didn't know), which was home to locals, students and some of the most curious people I've ever seen in my life.
One of our first nights venturing into the bar, past the bullet-proof vest toting bouncers, I had my first experience being picked up by a New Crosser. I was minding my own (annnnd everyone else's) business, taking pictures with friends, sitting on a bar stool and drinking Carling.
Then it hit me. Literally. A balled up napkin bounced off my back.
"How rude!" I said channeling my inner Stephanie Judith Tanner and laughing with my friends. The another hit me.
I swung around just in time for a third napkin to ricochet off my chest (that was a crowd pleaser).
I saw the culprits - two juvenile delinquents with grown out mohallets (you know, the weird mohawk-mullet thing) - giggling like little girls.
"Dude, what the hell?" Oh yes, I was a charming little blonde American girl.
Dumb and dumber motioned to open the napkin. Scrawled in 3rd grade penmanship, "Hi, I'm Jimy."
Well well well Jimy, aren't you just the spelling bee champ. I know a guy in New York I should introduce you to - your spelling and his extensive vocabulary would be a force to be reckoned with.
I got up, walked over, "So which one of you is Jimy?"
"Oy! She thinks your name is Jimy. And she's American." And she can hear you, boy genius. "She can't even read."
"Umm it's Jimmy, but if you want me to be Jimy, I will be. Want a pint?"
"Don't ya know how to say names?" Dumber weighed in. Another zinger.
"Yes, and I know how to read." I put the napkin in front of him.
He closed one eye, focused and burst out laughing. "Jim - ya spelled yar name wrong!"
"Yeah, but I got her to come over and talk to us! High-five."
Closing thought: If you're picking up what a dude's putting down when he hits on you, just make sure it isn't garbage, figurative or literal.