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MONDAY, 22 MAY, 2000, PHILADELPHIA |
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I can no longer deny it. I must tell the world. The quarantine of embarrassingly deplorable American accents has not been sufficiently contained in Michigan where it belongs. Mutations have bled out of the area and, I am loathe to report, can be found right here in my own backyard. Not in Philly. Not Center City, Phila, anyway. It’s too cosmopolitan and urban to harbour and nurture any rampant, uncontrolled local dialects (with the possible exception of South Philly. Blech!). It’s the burbs. It’s always the burbs, one supposes. I work in the burbs and thought that, despite my own opinions on certain word usages and flat pronunciations of certain vowel sounds, we could all just get along fine, understanding — if not respecting — one another’s language patterns. Not no more. Here is a paraphrased conversation I had a moment ago at the Muffin Bar on campus. It saddens me profoundly. Marquis Déjà Dû: “Good morning, Muffin Lady. Hmm, this particular muffin looks particularly delicious. What kind is it, please?” Muffin Lady: “Creeanburree.” MDD: “Pardon m…? Oh. You mean ‘cranberry’. Yes, that will be fine.” ML: “Is theeat oo-awl?” MDD: “Oh, ouch. Um, yah.” (Monies are exchanged. Coins are returned.) MDD: “Hey, do y’all have a microwave?” (Blank stare from the ML.) ML: “Mai-oh-naize?” MDD: “What?” ML: “Huh?” (A pause. A stalemate. Begin anew…) MDD: “Umm. Microwave? Have one you?” ML: “Now.” MDD: “Yes.” ML: “Now.” MDD: “That’d be fine.” ML: “Huh?” MDD: “Excuse me?” ML: “Did you need something else?” MDD: “Oh, uh… Yah, could you pop this in the microwave?” ML: “I ooawlready toldjah. Now we don’t heeave one.” MDD: “What happened to it?” ML: “We never hee-ad one.” MDD: “But you just said… OH! I see. ‘No’. That’s what you meant to be the saying. I’m so sorry. Monday n’ awl. Heh-heh. Okay thanks Muffin Lady. Buh-bye now.” ML: “Hee-ave a nee-ice dayee.” MDD: “Mmm-hmm. Whatever you said.” 
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