So it’s no secret I come from a hilariously small town with insanely hickish people. As always, we reinforce the stereotype of weird rural accents and localized slang. I wrote about this a bit before in my rural vs. city post but I’m just going to elaborate because it’s fun.
I took boyfriend home this weekend for mother’s day because, according to my mom, “He doesn’t have a mom.” I called mom to ask if Ryan could come down for the weekend and she said, no joke, “What? It’s mother’s day, why would he come here.. ohh wait ya he doesn’t have a mom. Of course he can come.” In reality his mother is in Saskatchewan, not dead, like my mother implied if anyone else had been listening in.
Anyways, we went home and dad was in full work mode because a truck was coming in that had to be unloaded. And he talks so fast and uses so much slang that any outsider would have thought it was another language. Oh wait, someone was there. Boyfriend. I asked him if he understood anything and he said he got the gist. “Did he just say Chicago?” “No he said Shag Harbour."
In true small town fashion dad said Boyfriend needed to work for his supper and took him down to the plant to unload the truck. He met Robert, an old trucker who’s about 65 years old and apparently trucks because he’s bored as hell of retirement. Boyfriend could barely understand either of them but somehow managed to unload a truck full of lobsters into a tank without falling in and drowning.
After the lobsters were safely in their second to last final resting place, we went to the local bar to catch the back end of the hockey game. I had neglected to bring him to the bar scene, or anywhere in general, in my hometown other than the beach because I truly did not know how he would think of me and my town once he saw the real grit-of-the-earth locals.
I pointed out the local talk spot, aka Swain’s Garage, where everyone parks their trucks they can’t afford, or their super ghetto cars that they think are the shit. We headed down to Dooleys that isn’t Dooleys anymore but no one says the real name because no one knows what you’re talking about. Small towners don’t like change.
There was about 25 people in the bar, I knew 99% of them of course, and only the true Bruins fans stuck it out to the end. As the excitement built, the people got louder, the slang got worse, and the accent got thicker.
By the end of it Boyfriend couldn’t understand a word but he got the feeling of excitement. I just think it’s hilarious that we have this localized accent that no one else seems to have.
My friend in University msn’d me and said I thought you were behind me one day in class, then I remembered you lived in Ottawa so I knew it couldn’t be you. I heard your voice and accent so perfectly I knew she had to know you. Sure enough it was my cousin and neighbour, also former babysitter, sitting behind her. It just struck me as so funny that our accent is not only recognizable, but unique.
So I say live proud, live loud all you Barringtoner’s, Capies, Cockawitters, and wherever else in between. We may be the last of a generation with our own made up words, and weird Irishy, Bostony, Hicky accents.
Who knows, maybe we’ll take over the world and show everyone how to shuck a proper lobster (something dad also made Boyfriend do) and how to back a large truck out of a seemingly impossible wharf corner.
