Cumbie's adventure, 9/17/2003

[prog]

I just got a polite talking-to from an interesting young man at the Cumbie's. I couldn't place this guy's accent. It was American, and drawled, but neither "generic" Southern nor Yankee, so it's from someplace outside of my own travels. It actually reminded me strongly of Ricky's voice, with the Maine-ness removed from it but all the squirreliness left in, so maybe that's why it struck me so.

He wanted to buy a cigar, and and lo, they had one behind the counter. To pay for it, he started pulling coins, including a silver dollar, out of his shoe (which also held his ID), but he was a little short. He turned to me: "You got twenty cents?" "Sorry, man," I said, as I say to most strangers who ask me for money. He seemed confused. "You can't check?"

At this point his companion, a woman of about his age, rescued the both of us, by spinning another coin onto the counter. "What's that?" he said. "I believe you'll find it's a quarter," she said. "You believe I'll find it's a quarter", he echoed, contemplating this turn of events, and this especially is a Ricky-ism, actually. While the counterperson rung up the purchase, the fellow, reassembling his shoe, spoke to me again: "Well, do you need twenty cents?" "No I'm all set," I said, with a smile, and the little salute I give to strangers who slow down to let me cross the street.

Preparing to leave, he began a short litany directed at me, mildly chastising me for my miserliness. Something like: "'Cause, you know, the feeling's mutual. I mean, y'know, you gotta help each other out. Well," he concluded, walking out the door, "you're not from where I am. I can tell."

And so it came to pass that I will feel vaguely poopy about this for the rest of the day. Anyway, I made a mental note that should I someday find myself visiting some part of the USA where everyone talks like this guy, and I will think a ha and know at least a little bit about how I'm expected to act under some circumstances.

Comments

[jadelennox]

I've gotten similar talking-tos (though not so colourful) and they make me dislike the person, not myself. It's all well and good to assume the person is being a miser, but I frequently don't have so much as a quarter on me.

When you assume, you make an ass out of "you" and "the big bruise on your shin you get when I kick you, you ass".

[xymotik.livejournal.com]

Hmmm, sounds like possibly maybe could be Appalachia, like eastern Tennessee (or at least the northern south), or Oklahoma/Kansas/north Texas, the plains area settled originally by southerners. What you describe sounds like what I heard during my brief visits there. The way of speaking, the community spirit, the "you're not from where I am" parochialism, and (maybe even the change in the shoe) speak strongly to the people I talked to from Cookeville, TN. I felt like I needed a passport in east Tennessee more than in any other place in the US ('cept Alaska and Kentucky, never been there). But who knows.

As to feeling vaguely poopy, back in 98-99, my first year here, I was franticly working on a paper, didn't have time to go grocery shopping, and even McD and Burger King were too far away (this was during the high point of calories-per-dollar; I weighed 118 pounds). So I went to Taco Bell, and while standing in line thinking that the 89 cent burrito I was about to buy could buy me an entire days' worth of food at the supermarket, a morbidly obese man behind me mumbled something. After three attempts, I realized that he was saying "help me out?" I politely declined. As I was leaving, I heard his order total--about $4, or enough to feed me for half a week. Hrrumph.

To borrow from Palpatine, let your poopiness flow through you, harness your poopiness, externalize it, and let your poopiness make you powerful.