Me Me Me

I had a funny encounter today while buying my daily lunch salad. The checkout woman said, “That’s $8.12,” and I said, “Okay,” and she said, “Are you from the south?” 

Just the word “okay” was a giveaway. “Yes,” I replied, semi-pleasantly. “So am I!” she said. “Where are you from?” I said, ”Alabama,” and she said, “North Carolina,” and I gave my usual disclaimer, “But I’ve lived here for a long time. I shouldn’t still talk this way.” Cheerfully, she resassured me, “It’s not so bad. I’ve heard worse!”

Beyond the fact that I will hereinafter avoid this woman’s checkout line at all costs, her comment made me ponder anew WHY I still have this accent more than 30 years after I moved to New York City, never to return south for more than a week at a time. My darling husband lost his Georgia drawl lickety-split in law school. And at this point, I don’t enjoy being mistaken for a tourist, even though most people are nicer about my accent — at least to my face — than Salad Woman. (Thank god those Shake & Bake “And I hay-ulped!” ads went off the air.)

I used to tell myself that the accent was useful in case anyone dared to underestimate me. Go ahead! Assume what you will! I also felt that it didn’t do me any harm in interview situations — although, not long ago a Latina actress took an instant dislike to me over the phone and suggested that I might be racist, something I don’t think would have happened if I’d said the very same thing in a different sort of voice. 

The truth is, I like accents of all types. I love New York accents, even though my adorable Manhattan-born children don’t have any accent at all. Boston accents are great. Midwestern accents can be nice. And I especially like it when actors become successful while holding on to their original speech pattern — hello Holly Hunter! Even if you’ve left where you came from (and never intend to go back), it’s nice to carry a little bit of your past around with you when you open your mouth.