Y'ain't From Around Here, Are You?

Y'aint from around here, are you?" I hear this a lot.

Apparently I'm not. Apparently I have an accent. I'm a transplanted Anglo-Chinese with what can be deemed as an RP accent. According to Wikipedia: Received Pronunciation (RP), also called the Queen's (or King's) English and BBC English, is the accent of Standard English in England. I don't hear it at all. But then again, we never hear our own speech patterns now do we? To me I sound normal. To everyone around me, that isn't so much the case. I have been assured ad nauseum that I do indeed have an accent. Most folk are pleasant about it. Some not so much. But then again, that seems to be part of the sociological makeup of society isn't it? Gotta have the good and the bad.

The good folk aren't that interesting in this particular tale of mine. Mostly a conversation carries on a few minutes before the person I'm talking to, rather self-consciously asks "Are you from England/Australia/New Zealand?" Take your pick. Technically, the answer to all three is "No, I'm from none of the above." Technically, I'm supposedly from Malaysia. My parents both assured me I was made and produced there, hence earning myself citizenship with no effort whatsoever on my part. Mother on the other hand... well, that's not part of this tale. But I was also registered at the British High Commission because Daddy is British. Therefore I also have British Citizenship (again with no effort on my part). Hah, my gentle reader, I feel you thinking, "You are English then!" Nope, no I am not. I am half British. British is not automatically English. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland consist of 4 countries: England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Daddy is Welsh which makes me Welsh too.

Side note here. It is considered extremely impolite to assume all British are English. Just saying. It's tantamount to calling all Americans Yankees. Here in the South, I could get shot then have my teeth kicked in for saying such a shocking thing.

So, back to the conversation. I mostly say Britain (because of the accent) and my charming acquaintance will nod happily and say "Yes, I detected the accent. You know, I (or my husband, mother, grandad, Uncle Jim) was in England once...." The small talk then takes it own predictable turn. It ends up being a nice, harmless conversation.

You also have the gushers. After a few words, the grab your hand and say "Oh My God!! Like you totally have this accent! Like, it's so cool, y'know? Is it like English then, cause that's just so hot!!!" When I answer in the affirmative, I get another gush of "SHUT UP!!! Get outa here!! Like totally say something!!!" So I oblige, I say "Something" and am usually greeted with peals of laughter followed by "You are just soooo cute I could eat you! You totally rock!!" Did you understand that? Don't worry, it took me awhile to figure it out too! Bless them! Nice people, they really are.

Then you have the just bizarre. While helping out a gentleman at work one day, he suddenly asked me if he detected a Korean accent. Korean?? Seriously? I didn't realise my 4 hour layover in Seoul while flying from L.A. to Hong Kong allowed me to absorb the speech patterns of an average Korean. "Oh goody!!" I thought to myself, my inner imp doing it's happy jig, "Now I get to play!!!"
My co-workers have gone quiet and started subtly eavesdropping. Oh how well they know me!
"Wow!" I say, sounding suitably impressed, "How perceptive of you. I can assure you no one else has ever detected it."
He smiles smugly at me. "I'm very gifted when it comes to catching accents," he boasts. "I can hear yours distinctly. "Which part of Korea?" he presses further.
My nosy co-workers have dropped all pretenses of not listening and are waiting for this train-wreck to happen.
"Oh, the northern part, " I say grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You know, that little city called Pyongyang, located just by the Taedong River. It really is a little farther north than most Americans are familiar with. Beautiful place. Our people are so friendly there."
Co-workers have started to snort and choke. They obviously know their geography better than Mr. Gifted.
Oblivious, he beams at me, "Yes, know it well. Such wonderful people. The women are gorgeous!" he says, terribly proud of his ability to identify Korean accents, his geographical knowledge of Northern Asia and apparently just as confident of his devastating charm and magnetism. He's turned on his 1,000 watt smile now. This is getting embarrassing. For him. My co-workers are no longer bothering to hold back anything. They've all gone and hidden in the back room where I could hear the most awful grunts and chokes and guffaws. Time to put an end to this.
"I'm sure they are. Will this be all sir?" I don't give him a chance to answer. "Enjoy your workout then. " I say as I turn my back to him and answer the phone.

There was also a time when I called up the car dealership in California to inquire about a recall. At the most random of moments, the rep breaks out with, "You're from Texas aren't you? I love Texas. Which part you from?"
Rather taken aback I fell back into my evil mode. "The British part!" I say with conviction. "It's in the north (I love being from the north if you haven't already spotted a trend!), specifically in the Hill Country in a little town called Pecan Springs. Lovely place there." Yes, there is hill country in Texas. No there is no Pecan Springs except in the wonderful fictitious world of Susan Whittig Albert's China Bayles Mysteries. This satisfied the man and we were back on track to the rather boring recall issue.

And then there are the just plain rude. There was this one guy who overheard me speaking to my friend at a stock car race (I embrace all forms of American culture! It was a fun night!!!). "Hey lady!" he bellows, "You got an English accent dontcha?"
"I've been told I have." I answer.
"Awww!," he says "I'm sooo sorry. Must be tough!" he grins idiotically.
"Oh sweetheart," I coo at him, batting my eyes. "Don't feel sorry for me. I've learn to deal with it. You save your sympathy for yourself. See, to I can change my accent in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, when you wake up tomorrow, you'll still be an idiot and there is no cure for dumbass."
My friends were sensible enough to grab me by the arm and drag me away before anything else happened. I love my friends!

You also have the folks that just barge in boorishly while you're in the middle of a conversation with someone else to state authoritatively that I have an accent. This irritates me no end. Why do you have to interrupt my conversation with this earth shattering piece of information. Gosh, if I wasn't told RIGHT THAT MOMENT, I guess the world will jolt off it's axis and Armageddon will be set in motion. I handle this one with very little grace, I'm sad to say. I look at the offending person from head to toe to head again, look them square in the eye and say in a clear, distinct, school teacher tone that carries through the whole room, "Sir/Ma'am, I don't have an accent. I have a speech impediment and for your information, in polite society we do not go around pointing out peoples' handicaps. It would behoove you to refrain from doing so in the future because others may not be as restrained as myself." For the full effect, I then toss my head, march off and leave the boor standing there. What he does after that, I don't particularly care.

I don't mention accents anymore. I know how old it can get. There's a German lady at the Commissary, an Indian girl and a Scottish lady at the Walmart where I shop. We've crossed paths numerous time over the last 2 years. None of us has breathed a word about accents. We hear it, we digest it and we move on. It isn't the accent that defines these people, it's their kindness, their work ethics, their smile and their sunny nature that make them who they are.

And I'm positive they're as sick as I am of being told that we ain't from around here.

Vent over.