The quintessential American holiday and food fest that is Thanksgiving this Thursday poses a number of dilemmas for foreigners living here, such as this lanky Brit.
Having experienced two Thanksgivings in Austin, I’m approaching this one with a sense of foreboding–will anyone invite me to a meal?!–and am prepared for the inevitable abandonment by America whereby I’ll be left twiddling my thumbs as the nation closes down for a cultural event that doesn’t involve me and which I can’t take advantage of — my family is over 3,000 miles away.
Forget advantages, as a freelance journalist it’s a case of iceberg ahead, captain.
Most of the working week becomes a write-off with employees’ attentions elsewhere and offices starting to empty mid-week, leaving me with a bevy of unanswered phone calls and emails to keep me company over the holiday as I chew my nails and look forlornly at my laptop’s screen, hoping, pleading that some editor takes a peak at an inbox.
Forget the turkey, it’s looking like baked beans on toast and then drowning my sorrows with multiple Margaritas.