I’m so sorry. She said.
Yes, I replied. It seems silly to have to enter me into the computer every time I want to buy Claritin. But I guess. ….
Well people are using it to make that meth. She informed me. Or at least that’s what I thought she said through that thick, thick, rural Virginia drawl. It is something to behold. And it confuses me.
Terrible. It’s worse for you than heroine, I said, perhaps too knowingly. She agreed. Oh, rotten stuff. You’ll lose your teeth. Yes, I agreed. Terrible.
She looked at my State ID card I had printed a few weeks ago. I had to send my passport to Canada and worried that without the passport, I might not be able to buy the booze I needed to get me through the final stages of my dissertation. They sometimes get antsy about Canadian drivers licenses. Which irritates me. I mean, honestly, I can rent a car but not buy a bottle of wine? And, seriously, that’s sweet and all but I don’t look 20.
She looked at the ID card and said “You are a long way from home.” I pondered and thought, well Durham is only two hrs away -- not sure I’d consider that far; not sure I'd consider it home, for that matter, despite having lived in North Carolina much longer than anyone every anticipated. I’m sure many of my friends lost money when I managed to stay longer than the first month.
But it seemed unkind to confuse the woman at Wal-Mart who was dutifully entering me into a Federal Data Base.
Sure. Long drive. Up to Blacksburg to see my boyfriend. That would be too much information. Besides, I can do better.
Oh, I’m originally from Canada, I told her proudly, trying to shove down that Canadian Flag that mysteriously jumps up whenever I speak of my homeland. She looked up. OH! Well I new you had an accent. But I didn’t want to say anything to make you uncomfortable.
Yes, I thought, I’m the one who should be self conscious. Guess it might have been the absence of key phrases like “all ya’ll” and “you betcha.” The later one we all became too familiar with during the last campaign, but not even Sara Palin tried to pull off a “all ya’ll.” The first time I heard it was when I was in the Stewart, VA Wal-Mart bathrooms. I was so confused. I had no idea what the woman was saying.
It reminded me of when I first moved to the U.S. South. I couldn’t understand half the people I spoke to. I’d go into a gas station and ask for directions and be more confused when I got out than when I first went in with no idea what they had just told me. It was more embarrassing when I first started teaching. Some of my rural mountain students had to say their names two and three times, even spelling them out, before I finally deciphered “Stephanie” or “Brittany” through the drawl. They must have thought I was such an asshole.
And I am. I am a boorish quintessential Northern Canadian snob. Until about six weeks ago the only ID card I had was Canadian. I’d rather not buy the bottle of wine than show an American ID card. And of course I was too vain to show my passport picture. Hideous. I look like a heroine addict in that photo (hmm, suspicious to see that theme reappear). When Bush was president I’d pull out my Drivers License (actually in Alberta it’s an Operators License which confuses the hell out of people here. It provides me with yet another opportunity to be even more irritatingly smug about the ignorance of the American who is trying to see if I am legal.) Anyway I’d flash it in front of the check-out-clerk and await for either the disdain (Republican) or envy (Democrat) and the inevitable conversation starter “wow, what brings you to North Carolina.” Depending on my mood, I’d respond with “School” or “I ask myself that question daily.” Asshole, they’d say with their eyes. Tell me I’m wrong, I’d glare back.
Many of my southern friends have worked very hard to purge themselves of the accent, much like Stephen Colbert who lost his when he left Charleston. Southerners fear that their accent might make them the but of some Northerner's jokes, much like this blog. (I promise it's not all snobby.) I once went to the North Carolina State fair (don't worry, it will be the subject of a subsequent blog) with a friend from Raleigh. Her mother was so enthused by the idea of Jackie taking a Canadian and another Northerner, Robin, who is from Washington State, that she bought us all tickets. It was generous. They are very generous here in the South. At the end of the afternoon we bumped in to Jackie's grandfather and all of a sudden Southern Jackie emerged out of the body of grad school friend Jackie and started to drawl with the best Southern Bel accent you'd ever heard. We'd certainly never heard Jackie drawl like that, she is very good at keeping the accent suppressed even when burdened by several beers. Robin and I sat in the back of the car trying not to giggle until her grandfather had left and then we both roared with laughter. Poor Jackie. She was mortified.
In the past year or so I’ve become a bit better working out the drawl. Some still escape me, like the people in the Wal-Mart in Stewart. I’ve also begun to incorporate a few Southernisms into my vocabulary. Ya’ll works well; it’s convenient; saves time. My other favourite expression is “bless his/her heart.” It is used to mitigate some bitchy comment, but it only serves to reinforce that whatever proceeded the phrase was cutting, bitchy, and demeaning. “President Bush, bless his heart, sure tried as President.” Or “Did you see what she was wearing at the party, bless her heart.” Or “Betsy turned that essay in, bless her heart.”
My friend Harry introduced me to another great Southernism this past week in a joke, which I will retell and hope I do it justice.
Miss Scarlet was sitting on the porch with her friend, Miss Melanie. The two women gazed over the green hills stretching to the horizon. Miss Melanie said, “Miss Scarlet, all this here land, this green beautiful rich land, all the land you can see from this porch, was left to me by my daddy.” Miss Scarlet replied, “that’s nice.” Miss Melanie said, “See this hear green taffeta dress? It is the latest fashion from Europe, bought for me in Paris by my late Daddy.” Miss Scarlet said “That’s nice.” Miss Melanie looked at Scarlet and said, “What did your daddy leave you?” Miss Scarlet said “oh my daddy was too poor to leave me anything. But he did tell me that when I want to say “Fuck you” to someone all I have to do is say “that’s nice.”
