The Buffalo Accent

Regionalism

Why is it so cold here? Like, why? With a groan I lurched out of bed. The word ‘lurched’ sounds a bit pretentious, but really, that’s what happened. Think Jaba the Hut. Think the living dead.

I went to the computer to check the temperature. I blinked the sleep and disbelief out of my eyes as I stared at the screen. -4 degrees with the wind chill. ‘Oh,’ I think, ‘balmy.’

The phone rings in the other room. Now, there are only two people who would call me at 6:15am. Since my mother is visiting “rest homes” in Florida, the only possibility was my neighbor, Tommy Burtuziak. I think that’s how you spell it. I’m probably missing 7 c’s or 8 z’s, but it’s close enough.
“Eh dere, Steef. Dya see all dat snow out dere?”
‘No,’ I think, ‘this hypothermia is all in my head.’
Tommy, or “Daaaaammy” as he says is really a sweet old guy. I mean, I’m just cranky because I have this sense that my balls might literally freeze….off. Now of course its not good to sterotype, but with Tommy I can’t help it. He is Buffalonian Polish through and through. Yes, he has a yard bordered with big rocks painted white, and yes, he has statue of the Madonna. Hey, I’m not knocking it, I’m not even Polish and my parents had the same shit in our yard in the house I grew up in.
Anyway.
“So, ehhhhhh,” he collects his thoughts, “dya need any help wid da dthing o’er dere?” See what I’m saying, how many people ask if you need help like that? He just talks funny. But hey, I probably sound prissy to him. Who knows?
“Uh, no, I think I’m good over here. Thanks though.”
“Ok, den. Don’ forget, Steef, dere’s dat church bazaar at St. Deresa’s” – he means Theresa’s – “and ya know Judy Golsinski brings dem pastries wi’ da crème and tings in da middle. You knooow da ones.”

I wont forget.