A Manner of Speaking

Since emigrating to the United States from England almost 20 years ago, I can still be surprised at the reaction my accent and place of birth elicits. Here are some of the best – or, depending on your point of view -- the worst, moments that have endeared themselves to me. 

Road trips are a good bet for interesting encounters. One time I stopped at a restaurant in rural Iowa. Hearing me order, a trucker standing close by came up to me and asked, “You from Canada or somethin’?”The smart Alec in me was tempted to respond with “Somethin’,” but he had arms like tree trunks, so I decided to continue on my journey. 

 
Another road trip found me in a Kansas City coffee shop chatting to two young women. After a few minutes I decided to introduce myself and offered to shake hands, whereupon one of them took my hand and, bending her knees and slightly bowing her head, curtseyed!  I didn’t know where to look and told her, “There’s no need to curtsey to me!” Perhaps she thought that was the expected etiquette when meeting a Brit.

The holidays—"Do you guys have Christmas in England?” someone once asked. “Used to years ago, but now we just celebrate Columbus Day,” I quipped. Needless to say, I wasn’t too surprised when my explanation was considered for a while and then greeted with an understanding nod of the head. 

And then there's the exchanges just stretch belief. Consider: Used to parking my car in the same downtown Minneapolis parking ramp each morning, I quickly found myself on greeting terms with the attendant - until the time, that is, when he asked: “You speak English very well. Where do you come from?" 

“England," I enthusiastically replied.

A confused look and then, “So they teach you the language there, huh?”

Apparently, they’ve been teaching it there for some time. I smiled, wound up the window, and drove off.

But perhaps the most bizarre exchange of all took place in a supermarket in Jacksonville, Florida. Ordering a sandwich at the Deli counter, I became conscious of a man nearby looking at me. A glance back a few seconds later and his eyes were still fixed on me. After collecting my sandwich I headed toward the checkout only to notice the same man heading my way.

I was a little apprehensive so decided to turn into the adjacent isle, stop and pretend to look at something on the shelf and hope that he’d walk past. But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped just inches away, and in an elongated Southern drawl, said, “Excuse me sir, can I say something to you?”

My heart began to pound a little faster as I imagined what he might want. “Sure, say whatever you like,” I replied.

“Cheers mate!” he boomed, adding, “I’ve always wanted to say that to an Englishman.”

And then he was gone. Just like that.

There’s also the really fun encounters. Not long ago, in a Brueggers Bagel store, I asked, “Can I have a little more cream cheese on that bagel?”

“Honey, with an accent like that you can have as much cream cheese as you like,” replied the woman, smiling.

These are, of course, some of the more extreme examples. Having the accent I do can often be fun, but more often than not it’s a non-event.