Enjoyment

Yesterday, I deviated from my norm of shake-taking (this is an area reserved for a whole post of its own; for now, I shall leave it alone), and decided to do lunch with the work guys. We went to Chick-Fil-A and I grabbed a salad. Fascinating so far, right?

Anyway, the point of this lead-in is the conversation I had with the check-out guy. Is that what they're called? Check-out guys? Order-Taker? Remover-of-Finances?

Guy: Nice accent.

Me: Well thank you. I was born with it, so I can't really take much credit.

Guy: I enjoy it very much.

Enjoy? Seriously? Like, I could have dealt with. Even love. But enjoy...? I had sudden visions of him not being able to contain himself any longer, and that not being ranch dressing on my salad.

In this case, I happen to think the job title 'Creepazoid' fits him quite nicely.

On Being Misheard

(A classroom, in a school, somewhere in America)

Indian Professor: Give me an example of data.
British Student: The price of a product.
Indian Professor: Bra support?!
British Student: ...No. That's definitely not what I said.
Indian Professor: Oh, you know, foreign accents can be so confusing.

On Flaurs, Hayer and Gawd

We recently had a visit from my aunt and uncle from Kentucky. It was great to see them, but sometimes I forget what it sounds like to come from the bible belt area, and my aunt has the BEST accent being from Louisville. I also pretty much forget that Lisa has an accent. When she speaks, it sounds normal (well, content aside) to me. However, when these two women were in the same room, I swear I needed some sort of Star Trek-esque device that could decode alien languages. One night, we were having a conversation at my parents' house and it became very apparent that I live with a grammar vigilant Briton, and that my aunt has had her language processor surgically altered to "Southern" at some point in her life. The edited version of the night follows:

Aunt Jane: Oh mah GAWD! They were setten on the grayond and I took a picture and when it came out - all you saw were these blue flaurs!!

Lisa: I'm sorry, what again?

Aunt Jane: What? The flaurs?

Lisa: Oh flares? Like road flares?

Me: I don't think so...

Lisa: Fliers? Flies? Wait, what?

Aunt Jane: Flaurs. Blue flaurs.

Me: Flowers?

Aunt Jane: Well, yes, that's what I said!

Lisa: Oh my God, that was flowers? There should be more syllables!

Aunt Jane: That's what we do in the South. We add them to some words and take them out of others. Like, "brush your hayer. hay-er. 2 syllables. Not hair. But Flowers? They're just flaurs."

Cut to me on the floor laughing because I was certain at this point that my father didn't understand one word that had been said for the prior 20 minutes between the both of them. Oddly enough, I think they understood each other really well.

Also during the stay, we talked a little history and politics and such. Not much, because I hear that kind of thing can ruin a family, but I was giggling when the subject of the Civil War came up and my father tried to zing Lisa by saying:
"The only thing you learned about our civil war and our history was through books!" to which she calmly replied that, indeed - so did he. Silly boy. As if he fought in the Civil War and learned that way. He looks good for being that old!

So, here's the family.