Southern Accents

reflections on a couple phone calls as I worked at my internship

Today, I had the pleasure of making a couple routine phone calls to some places in the south. One went to a hospital in North Carolina, another to the front desk of a business in Mississippi. Each time, the phone was answered by a woman with a pleasurable Southern drawl. Each time, I imagined I was speaking with a woman plump, but satisfyingly so (not sloppily so), who had settled herself comfortably into a rolling desk chair. This chair would be the kind that you’d buy for about $50 at Office Depot, and you’d buy it without expecting it to be a long-lasting investment. But, in my mind, the way these women rest themselves in their chairs make those chairs seem like padded plastic-and-cloth homes for their bodies. Every space they inhabit must have been transformed into a home. By the tone of their voices, I’d swear that neither had experienced a bad day in their whole life – or at least, nothing that could get them down for long. Depression is anathema to them; rain is a weather pattern, not a mood-maker. Each woman answered the phone like she had just been waiting for me to call and wanted nothing but to make sure I was having a pleasant day. Actually, speaking with them both did put me in a more agreeable mood. Plus, there was none of that insipid receptionist tone in their voice – just honest, unadorned invitation: “Tell me how things’ve been for you, honey.” How is it that Southern accent makes every word inviting, comfortable? These women spoke and instantly, I felt at home.

I am looking forward to that in Memphis. The Southern accent wraps me up, envelops me, and makes everything sound tolerable, survivable: even if the message is censure it is never rebuke. That Southern accent might be the thing that gets me through the rough patches. Rough stretches, I mean. That Southern accent could be life-sustaining for me next year.