COLUMN: Redneck stuff Vol. 1 – Handling the lingo
Have you ever been to a friend’s house and couldn’t help but ask why there’s a rusty old car stuck in the front yard? The stinging yet hilarious reply inevitably comes, “That’s where she stopped running!”
Maybe friends from your hometown don’t spend a lot of time pursuing hobbies like Civil War reenacting or metal detecting, but I’m from Virginia, where just about anything goes. Even though I lived as a child in Southeast Asia, I have been fighting for my life ever since in a quest to not become a “redneck.”
Most educated folks think of rednecks as hillbilly farmers from the South, but let it be known, that they can be found anywhere you go. A redneck can simply be defined as anyone with a “glorious absence of sophistication,” and I don’t care if you have a doctorate from Harvard, chances are you or someone you know fits into this category.
I knew I was in trouble the first time I moved to Virginia and was caught off guard by the oldest joke in the book. “Hey, did you see that deer over there? – John Deere!” Of course having just traveled from Singapore, where our lawn more closely resembled an 8-by-10-foot shag carpet with weeds, I didn’t even know what a John Deere was. I was also totally unaware that this was the beginning of my subconscious conversion to a southern lifestyle.
One of the first accomplishments in conformation was trying to understand the language so I could communicate with my neighbors. Here’s a typical conversation that you may hear back home. Don’t worry, I’ve spelled all the words “fonetickly” so you could read them and I also provided a translation.
The meeting:
“Hey Bubba, jeet?” (Good evening Bubba, have you had your evening meal yet?)
“Naw Cletus, jew?” (Hello Cletus, I haven’t had my dinner yet today, have you?)
“Whar jeet at?” (What preferred dining establishment did you select to embrace your culinary appetite?)
“I sed naw, Cletus, no whuddah meen?” (I said NO, you twit, are we finally in verbal accordance?)
“Pull up yer britches an put on yer clodhoppears, so we cun go down er to Waffle House.” (Your buttcrack is showing and you are still barefoot. Get your act together so we can visit the South’s premier restaurant, Waffle House.)
In the truck on the way to Waffle House:
“Bubba, jeer bout that thar strukcher fahr smackdab inamiddel a town?” (Bubba, you are a very observant person; what can you tell me about the burning building on Main Street?)
“Yessir, affer battlin’ that thar dagum strukcher fahr bak er, Ima fixin to git me sum biskits ‘n gravy.” (Well, as a firefighter, I was present in that situation, but now that it is under control, I’m very hungry and would like to purchase some delectable pastries with a pleasant dipping sauce.)
“I reckon sum grits wil also put sum hitch bak in yer giddyap, ya hear!” (Ground up corn meal that looks like vomit is a normal Southern food item; you should eat some, it may make you feel better after a strenuous day.)
At Waffle House:
“How y’all doin? You fellers no wucha wanna eat?” (Good evening kind sirs. I’ve been on my feet all day serving rednecks, so hurry up and order your food so I can have a smoke break.)
“No ideer Bobby Sue, but itud bedder be sum tasty cridder deep fried in awl.” (I’m not quite sure what to order, but the last time I had the fried possum it sure tasted great, so bring some of that, and this time I had better come close to getting a heart attack.)
“Asright, Cletus, an bring us sum beer too, befo I mak a shu shop outta yo tail!” (Cletus is correct, inasmuch as we also get the opportunity to get so rip roarin’ drunk the police will have to come and haul us off to prison, but of course we will defend ourselves with our Second Amendment rights; you know, the one that allows us to shoot anything within 6 feet of our heads after seven o’clock regardless of the fact that we’ll probably get put on the TV show “Cops” so all of America can laugh at my hat hair and his impeccable lack of social graces.)
“Simma down na!” (Shut up you fools.)
As hard as I try to convince everyone that I’m not a redneck with my incredible diction and great writing skill, I always revert when no one’s looking. In fact, my roommate from Kentucky and I have devised our own language based on how we talk back home just so we can confuse folks around here.
Understanding those from the South is just a first in the denial of my becoming a redneck. Next, I’ll have to work on getting a hobby so I can better understand the culture. But it’ll have to wait until I get the car out of my front yard.
Garrett Wheeler came to Utah State University to study engineering and escape rednecks. If you have any stories oozing with blatant absences of sophistication, send them to wheel@cc.usu.edu.