SouthernN'Proud
Southern Discomfort
So.
I'm sitting in a little local mom-n-pop place having a nice quiet lunch. Chef salad with honey mustard for the record. Quite good, actually.
As I am consuming this meal, 2 ladies in their late 50s/early 60s come in and sit at the booth behind me. Groovy. Not a problem.
The waitress asks them (as she is delivering food to a nearby table), "What can I get y'all to drink?"
One of them (let's call her Mildred) pipes up in that damn obnoxious New England sorry ass excuse for a dialect "Y'ALL??!!!"
Our waitress apparently doesn't catch the tone, and says "Yeah, what can I get you sugar?"
At this point her friend (we'll call her Hazel) pipes up with "SUGAR??!!" That is no way to address a customer!"
Mildred: "Oh for Pete's sake, this is just unacceptable. How are women supposed to advance in this world when we speak this way?"
Hazel: "I guess we just need to remember where were are."
SnP, turning in the booth to face them: "Yes, I think that's a mighty fine idea, sugar. Remember where you are, and if you need directions or an escort back to Interstate 81 north you just let me know. You're in Dixie now, SUGAR. It's how we talk."
Amazingly, they didn't leave. I received two of the blankest stares in memory, and a grateful look from the waitress. I also realized I had lost my appetite.
Wonder if they were brave enough to actually eat what they were served.
Normally, I would have just minded my own business and gotten a giggle out of it. But for some reason, it just rubbed me wrong today. Should the cruel hand of fate ever require that I be anywhere north of Dixie, I intend to let the locals run their own lives without my help, and to just privately laugh at them a few dozen times a day. Guess it's too much to expect in return though.
Sugar.

I'm sitting in a little local mom-n-pop place having a nice quiet lunch. Chef salad with honey mustard for the record. Quite good, actually.
As I am consuming this meal, 2 ladies in their late 50s/early 60s come in and sit at the booth behind me. Groovy. Not a problem.
The waitress asks them (as she is delivering food to a nearby table), "What can I get y'all to drink?"
One of them (let's call her Mildred) pipes up in that damn obnoxious New England sorry ass excuse for a dialect "Y'ALL??!!!"
Our waitress apparently doesn't catch the tone, and says "Yeah, what can I get you sugar?"
At this point her friend (we'll call her Hazel) pipes up with "SUGAR??!!" That is no way to address a customer!"
Mildred: "Oh for Pete's sake, this is just unacceptable. How are women supposed to advance in this world when we speak this way?"
Hazel: "I guess we just need to remember where were are."
SnP, turning in the booth to face them: "Yes, I think that's a mighty fine idea, sugar. Remember where you are, and if you need directions or an escort back to Interstate 81 north you just let me know. You're in Dixie now, SUGAR. It's how we talk."
Amazingly, they didn't leave. I received two of the blankest stares in memory, and a grateful look from the waitress. I also realized I had lost my appetite.
Wonder if they were brave enough to actually eat what they were served.
Normally, I would have just minded my own business and gotten a giggle out of it. But for some reason, it just rubbed me wrong today. Should the cruel hand of fate ever require that I be anywhere north of Dixie, I intend to let the locals run their own lives without my help, and to just privately laugh at them a few dozen times a day. Guess it's too much to expect in return though.
Sugar.

