"Where in America are you from?" the cashier asked me.
At the time, I had been studying abroad and living in Bath, England for five months, shopping at this same local grocery store multiple times a week. I considered Bath home in so many ways -- I wasn't a native, but I certainly felt that I was managing to blend in, at least. Yet the man ringing up my perishables and spotted dick (really, that's a British dessert) somehow knew I was far from a local.
"I'm from New York," I chortled. "Is my accent that obvious? I pronounce 'dog' and 'coffee' like a normal person, I swear."
"No, it's not your accent," he began. "My friends and I play this game called 'Spot the American,' and the biggest giveaway is anyone wearing trainers with baggy sweat clothes out in public. People from the UK wouldn't dream of running errands dressed like that. No offense, of course!"