I'm an Alien

I’m a legal alien, an American in London. They can tell right away too.

We decided that we were going to live like common people, see what common people see, rest our kids like common people. We went off to our natural habitat – the suburbs.

After close to an hour in the tube, we arrived at the Wacky Warehouse, a play place conveniently located within a pub. 

To enter, we were asked for our post code, which we gave to the young lady with no additional explanation.

“No, I mean what’s your post code?”

“Yeah, that’s our post code.”

“Really? Ok…” Clearly this was quite bizarre to her. These people must be from another planet or complete morons. “What’s your phone number?”

We gave that to her, which was greeted with an even more puzzled face.

“Is that a mobile??”

“Yes.”

Her distraught look at these strange numbers we were giving her and the inability for her computer to accept this alien language finally brought out the explanation – we’re American.

“Oh! Are you staying with family then?”

“No.”

“Why did you come here??”

The answer to that question was really quite simple. Our kids needed a chance to run like crazy little loud Americans for a few hours. It was really quite nice.

It was also reassuring to see that while some may glare at our children at tourist attractions, British children are actually much worse. And their parents have bad teeth.

Just like back home!

This is the most hated building in London. Really. 

I've been to Dorking many times. Took a quick ride there tonight while writing this post, in fact.