Upon arrival I discovered that I was sadly mistaken that we spoke the same language. Yes, technically we both spoke English, but Glaswegian and the Kentucky drawl are two very different species. Scottish people talk fast. Like, really fast. Especially if we get excited about something – then all the words just blur together into a big incoherent rambling. Becausewhenwearereallyexcitedwetalklikethis!! In a way I discovered that the Kentucky folks are the yin to the Scots yang. We talk real fast. They talk real s l o w. I couldn’t understand the locals, and they sure as heck couldn’t understand me! Think the cast of Trainspotting meets Larry The Cable Guy and you’ll have an idea of the predicament. After an initial adjustment period I learned so slow down the rate of my speech, but darn it, I was not going to change how I pronounced my vowels! It’s a toe-MAH-toe not a toe-MAY-toe. And certain words required major adjustment. Like if someone asked me what pants I was planning on wearing that night. “Excuse me?!?!? Oh, you mean TROUSERS!”
Some of the more awkward moments occurred when someone tried to complement me on how well I spoke English. I mean, how are you supposed to act in that situation?!? You really only have three options: 1) Thank them and allow them to remain blissfully ignorant of world geography and languages; 2) Call them out on being a big eedjit; or 3) Swiftly redirect the conversation onto another topic. The cringe inducing moment of all time happened when I was asked “what age were you when you learned English?” What I really wanted to say was “well, I pretty much had it mastered by age two”. What I actually said was a mumbled explanation that English was my native language. Which was followed up with a confused “but you’re Scottish”. At that point I went into conversation redirection mode and just a swiftly got the hell out of there.
Trying to order in restaurants was almost always guaranteed to be frustrating as hell (but the source of so many amusing stories afterward). Case in point: I had a hilarious run in once while trying to order a “pink cow” at UDF (it’s a mix of ice cream and red cream soda for those of you currently scratching your heads and wondering). Just so you know, Scottish people have a very unique way of pronouncing the word cow. And for the life of me I cannot pronounce it in an American twang. (Just ask the kid that I was working on animal sounds with - I asked him “what does a cow say?“ and gave me a puzzled expression and asked “ What’s a cow?“) So there I was trying my hardest to get my point across, while this spotty teenager looks at my with this confused open mouthed “huh?” expression. Meanwhile my Ex was cracking up in the background and refusing to translate for me, as it would spoil the comedy of the situation. That happened a lot. Especially in the Mid-West where people generally looked at me as if I had two heads while ordering something.
The one thing that would drive me CRAZY while trying to order in restaurants was trying to get a simple glass of water. Should be easy. Should be. I mean, how many drink options are there? It’s not like I was ordering an Irn Bru! (For you Yankees’ that’s Scotland’s national soft drink - it’s fizzy, bright orange, and heaven in a glass!)
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| Irn Bru has the best adverts! Case in point :) |
Here’s an example of a typical scenario:
Waiter: “What y’all like to drink?”
Me: “Can I have some water please”
Waiter: “Excuse me?”
Me: “A glass of water please”
Waiter: “A glass of what?”
Me: (letting out a big sigh) “A glass of wad-der”
Waiter: “Oh, a glass of wad-der! No problem!”
This would invariably be followed up with me having a wee rant to whoever I was eating with about the fact that water has the letter T in it, not the letter D. Curiously, I only had this issue on the East Coast and Midwest. West Coast folks know how to pronounce “water” with a T. Thank goodness for that.
The best story about confusion when ordering comes from a Scottish friend who was on vacation in Chicago: he informed the waiter that he was “still deciding” what he wanted to drink while perusing the menu. Two minutes later a glass of cider was placed in front of him. Evidently “still deciding” in Glaswegian dialect translates as “a glass of cider please” to Chicagoans.
My all time best lost in translation moment happened while living in Vermont. I was working in a preschool at the time, and we had to change classroom locations prior to the school year starting. In the classroom there was this awesome wooden play house. It was far too big to fit through the door, so a coworker and I were trying (and failing miserably) to dismantle it. My coworker was trying to unscrew the roof, and couldn’t really see what she was doing. Trying to be helpful I asked “do you want me to go get you a torch?” Only to be met with a big grin as she replied “why? Do you want me to burn it down?!” That was the day that I committed to memory that a torch was no longer a torch - it was a flashlight!
It was at the same preschool that I learned that American words for body parts are quite different from some slang British words. The first time that I heard a teacher tell a little girl to “sit on your fanny” I just stood open mouthed gaping “what did you just say?!?!” I think this may have been the same day that I found out that bum bags were called fanny packs. Even now, 7 ½ years later as a US transplant, that just seems so WRONG! I mean some things I can adjust to, like spelling color without a U, or accepting that I no longer park in a car park, it’s a parking lot . And I walk on the side walk not the pavement. And I don’t eat sweeties anymore - it’s candy. And, I should never ever refer to sweatpants as joggy bottoms! Nowadays, some American words have become so ingrained in my brain that I forget what the Scottish equivalent is when I go home. And, I subsequently get in trouble as a result!
Working with little kids, I get told on a frequent basis that I “talk funny” - and that‘s with my now Americanized accent. I’ve also taught more than a few kids to pronounce words in a perfect Scottish accent! (Hey a quirky accent is better than no words - right?) One little guy that I work with went so far as to announce that he was off to visit “Nicola’s people” on his vacation to the U.K. Ah yes, my importance level is right up there with the Queen from the perspective of a 5 year old!
My favorite kid quote regarding sounding different came from another 5 year old - this time in a kindergarten class in Vermont. I was working with a little guy when some of his classmates starting asking about my accent. One of the little girls got very excited about this new foreign person in the room and while pointing at me, shouted to her teacher - “Miss! Miss! She’s from another world!” I always had an inkling I was from another planet… One where we all say “cow” funny, and we are all short and pale and talk a million miles a minute. Yup, I’m a Scottish import living in So Cal and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
