Expat Tourette's

Yesterday Rick and I trekked out to the one movie theater playing Casino Royale in English. It was a sold out show and EVERYONE in the theater spoke English—it was so strange to eavesdrop on multiple conversations. These weren’t tourists—tourists weren’t wasting their Saturday in Budapest going to see Casino Royale. There were English-speaking teenagers, kids, old people, businessmen, and students. It was exciting to feel like an unwitting part of one of the city’s subcultures.

During the movie I made a shocking discovery: I have developed Expatriate Tourette’s Syndrome. Now Rick knows I’m an idiot, so it doesn’t matter what I say around him. But in English-speaking countries I usually try not to subject innocent bystanders to my idiocy. I don’t say everything I think in public; I keep the stupider shit under my hat. In Budapest, however, I’ve gotten into the habit of talking with my mental filter off. What comes out is plain embarrassing.


Sarah: (commenting in a half-whisper on a Bond villain who keeps jumping off things, like in the video for “Jump”) Who is that guy? Madonna?
Rick: (whispering): Sssh!
Sarah: What? Chill out.
Rick: People can understand you!
Sarah: Oh, right.

Five minutes later:

Sarah: Yeaaaah, Montenegro. Lookin' good. Work it!
Rick: Shhhhh!
Sarah: Shit! Sorry.

Later

Sarah: (remarking on another Bond character) That guy is fat.
Rick: Sarah!
Sarah: Dammit!

The capper came when we were leaving the movie theater. It was raining now, and we hadn’t brought an umbrella. Luckily I had worn a hooded sweatshirt:

Sarah: It’s all good in the hood!
(short pause)
Sarah: Oh—uh—I mean…
Rick (laughs)
Sarah: I mean…Good Thing I Wore a Hood.