It didn't take long for me to realize that Italy was different. I had landed an internship with Coca-Cola in Milan and on my first day I showed up at the office bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager for a challenging summer work experience.

After being introduced to my new colleagues I asked what I should do on my first day. Nothing, I was told A nation-wide general strike had been called, so there was so business to be done. My new acquaintances were mostly white collar workers so the had shown up for work an way. We hung around a bit, got to know each other a little, and soon decided we were hungry.

Lunch consisted of clearing a space in a nearby warehouse. setting a table for twenty-five, and preparing enough spaghetti to feed an army. We ate pasta and drank wine for three hours.

The first hour we gorged ourselves. The second hour may new friends dubbed me "Johnny the Americano"--a tag which stuck (I would rarely be called anything else for the next two months.) By the third hour the wine had taken its effect. I don't remember what happened. I only recall getting a ride home and thinking out loud, wouldn't it be great if Italy had a general strike once a week?

Cranks

Italy was different. Very different. For starters, theft is rampant in Italy--a type of thievery tinged with miscnievousness. In my first week at work a colleague and I went to his apartment for lunch one day. During our meal the phone rang. His wife answered, spoke briefly and hung up.

"Who was it" my friend asked. "Burglars," she answered. "Oh," he said, and kept eating.

I asked him to explain. Burglars often called apartments in Italy. If you answer, they exchange pleasantries. If you don't answer, they assume no one is home and come and clean out the apartment. Happens all the time, he said.

The common stereotype is that Italians steal anything and everything ous throughout Europe for lifting wallets from the pockets of unsuspecting tourists. Out on the street they are masters at lifting radio cassette decks from cars. As a precaution most Italian drivers remove then from their dashboards and carry them on their person when leaving their cars on the streets.

Soccer Mania

I discovered how very different Italy was through an unlikely source. Italians are a diverse lot, but they are unified by a common national obsession. From Parma to Pisa they worship the game of soccer. And in the summer of 1982 their obsession intensified with the playing of the quadrennial World Cup championships (il Mondial) in Spain in June and July.

The Mondial was more than just a tournament for the average Italian. It was a reason for being, something that commanded Italy's heart and soul throughout the summer. In short, it was an obsession.

The seriousness with which the Italians approached the game of soccer is difficult for the North American mentality to grasp. This observer had a swift introduction. On a sunny Monday afternoon early in July Italy's beloved Azzuri (a name derived from the team's uniforms) squared off against the World Cup tournament favorite--Brazil--in the quarterfinals. Propelled by striker Paolo Rossi's three goals, the underdog Italians through sheer tenacity somehow upset Brazil, 3-2.

Oblivion

I was largely oblivious to the match's importance prior to that afternoon. Not that it was difficult to keep abreast of what was happening. During the playing of the Brazil game the city of Milan--like cities all over Italy--shut down. Traffic came to a halt, workers stopped working, and the nation's eyes and cars stayed glued to T.V. sets and radios.