Last night, I started my first day of work as a waiter at the "posh" restaurant of Broken Hill. I had a blast; it was great to start working again after a five week holiday. The big downfall to my night was that I was finally made cognisant of an ugly truth: I have an accent.
Having spent most of my first two weeks here with people I've know for over a year and had met in the United States, I was living with the natural thought that the people surrounding me were the ones with accents. Now that I've been out and about with complete strangers, it is painfully obvious that I'm the one who talks funny, not the other way around!
Nearly every table upon meeting me offered up such lines as, "Wow, you sure are a long way from home, mate!", "So, which state are you from, mate.", "what brings you to Australia, yank?"and "Canadian or American?". Canadian? People can confuse me with a Canadian? I think I now know how the Kiwis feel, always being confused with Aussies. Either way, there was no question that I'm an outsider here.
How thick is my "accent"? Well, children can't understand me. I asked two children if they had finished with their meals and was answered with blank stares. Their parents had to translate. And by translate, I mean they took my exact words and said them back with funny vowel pronounciation...only it wasn't funny, it was correct. I was the one talking funny!
A outback hick came up to bar and asked, "So mate, wher'ould a stubby of Veebs 'et me back?" The other woman responded quickly with, "about seven dollars." The hick responded, "Oi, 'at's bit dear."
"What the heck did that guy just say?" I asked my coworker after the man left.
"I'm sorry, what did you say mate?" She asked.
I repeated the same thing and after a moment of looking at me blankly, she finally comprehended my question. Apparently, he just wanted to know how much a beer costs.
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