First of all, let me state that the Southern accent is beautiful. Of all the accents I know, it is the most endearing because of it’s relaxed tones. It is so relaxed, that single vowels become plural. For instance: an i can be drawn out into an ea, and e can be turned into an ei, and so on. When they shorten two words…the abbreviation takes as long to pronounce as the original: you all becomes y’all. No time is saved and teasing is justified. I know having been teased about using that word after spending three years in Mississippi. When we settled in Texas eight years ago, I found that no one minded if you used “y’all” during conversation, and I’m afraid it will always be a part of my vocabulary.
Now after that background, I do want you to know that the Southern drawl can be a problem. I attended the funeral of one of my friends’ husband yesterday and it didn’t occur to me to find out what his name was before going. I had never met him, having only worked with this dear lady six months. As I pulled into the funeral home I was met by a black-suited elderly gentleman. Upon opening my window I was greeted with a watery smile and: “Are you here for the meals or ceremony?”
What? I know that occasionally people serve meals at funerals having just attended my Granny’s not three weeks before this, so I wasn’t too confused. With fast thinking I replied: “Oh no, I’m just here for the ceremony.”
The man gave me a blank, confused look and repeated himself: ‘No, are you here for the meals ceremony?”
Ok. What is a meals ceremony? My face now mirrored his confusion, so figuring he must not have his hearing aid adjusted he increased volume: “The ceremony for Meals, Edward C. Meals!”
Oh! Not food... Now another problem. I have NO idea what the man’s name was, because my coworker kept her old last name…I have no time to think!
Deciding to just find out by walking in, I replied that I was. After another brief conversation about whether or not I would be joining them at the grave-site or just attending the ceremony (I chose the latter), I was finally directed to park. (There was a small line behind me due to the confusion.)
When I walked into the building I knew 3 minutes of panic until I spotted four of my coworkers. How awful it would have been to have shown up at someone else’s funeral! What would I have done?
When I finally had a chance to look at the man’s name, it was NOT Meals, but Mills! Oh the Southern tongue! I am sure the poor gentleman directing traffic that afternoon probably wonders if I was a funeral crasher, for he came in after I had hugged my darling Miss Blanche and I was sitting in one of the back pews. But who ever heard of a funeral crasher?
Now after that background, I do want you to know that the Southern drawl can be a problem. I attended the funeral of one of my friends’ husband yesterday and it didn’t occur to me to find out what his name was before going. I had never met him, having only worked with this dear lady six months. As I pulled into the funeral home I was met by a black-suited elderly gentleman. Upon opening my window I was greeted with a watery smile and: “Are you here for the meals or ceremony?”
What? I know that occasionally people serve meals at funerals having just attended my Granny’s not three weeks before this, so I wasn’t too confused. With fast thinking I replied: “Oh no, I’m just here for the ceremony.”
The man gave me a blank, confused look and repeated himself: ‘No, are you here for the meals ceremony?”
Ok. What is a meals ceremony? My face now mirrored his confusion, so figuring he must not have his hearing aid adjusted he increased volume: “The ceremony for Meals, Edward C. Meals!”
Oh! Not food... Now another problem. I have NO idea what the man’s name was, because my coworker kept her old last name…I have no time to think!
Deciding to just find out by walking in, I replied that I was. After another brief conversation about whether or not I would be joining them at the grave-site or just attending the ceremony (I chose the latter), I was finally directed to park. (There was a small line behind me due to the confusion.)
When I walked into the building I knew 3 minutes of panic until I spotted four of my coworkers. How awful it would have been to have shown up at someone else’s funeral! What would I have done?
When I finally had a chance to look at the man’s name, it was NOT Meals, but Mills! Oh the Southern tongue! I am sure the poor gentleman directing traffic that afternoon probably wonders if I was a funeral crasher, for he came in after I had hugged my darling Miss Blanche and I was sitting in one of the back pews. But who ever heard of a funeral crasher?
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