Day of hellos and howdys
Homeless Guy: [noticing my inquisitive glance] Hello! How's it going?
I: Good. You?
Homeless Guy: [holds up a burning cigarette] I think I've hit the motherload. [motions toward corporate office building patio with four large ash trays, each brimming with half-smoked butts] I've never been so happy.
I: Lot of smokes there it looks like?
Homeless Guy: Man, you have no idea how bad I needed a drag. This is awesome.
I: Knock yourself out.
Homeless Guy: Have a good one, man.
* * *
As I walked toward the mailboxes in the entryway of my building, I was startled by an unsolicited, "Hah! Harr yuh?" I turned to see a large man with a long grey beard and a big smile on his face.
That's gotta be a Texan, I thought to myself, as I gave him a wave in return. Of course, I guess he could be any manner of Southerner. I probably shouldn't jump to conclusions based on such a quick utterance.
I stepped on the elevator, and the man was holding the door for me. I leaned over to press the button for my floor, and he waved his hand at me. "Hail, Ah God et. Whart flar?"
"Six, please. Thanks!" I answered.
"Tain't nuthern," he responded with a smile.
Just as the elevator reached my floor, I could no longer withstand the urge to confirm my assumption. "Where are you from originally, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Takes us. He a stun. Yew?"
"Me too," I said, with the smile of sudden belonging. "Lubbock."
"Wah hail!"
"Good to meet you," I said, as I stepped off the elevator. "Have a nice night."
"Sime tea uh," he responded, and nodded.
As many things that I don't miss about Texas, when I run into friendly Texans every once in a while, I can't help smiling.
* Incidentally, for those of you that'n speak English rather'n Texan, or th'other way yonder, this here's the conversation with our accents done swapped:
"Hi! How are you?"
". . ."
"Hell, I've got it. What floor?"
"Sakes, plaze. Thanky."
"It's nothing."
"Y'ain't firm rond ear aryeh?"
"Texas. Houston. You?"
"Luh Bick."
"Why, hell."
"Gudda meecha. Haver gud'n."
"Same to you."
I: Good. You?
Homeless Guy: [holds up a burning cigarette] I think I've hit the motherload. [motions toward corporate office building patio with four large ash trays, each brimming with half-smoked butts] I've never been so happy.
I: Lot of smokes there it looks like?
Homeless Guy: Man, you have no idea how bad I needed a drag. This is awesome.
I: Knock yourself out.
Homeless Guy: Have a good one, man.
* * *
As I walked toward the mailboxes in the entryway of my building, I was startled by an unsolicited, "Hah! Harr yuh?" I turned to see a large man with a long grey beard and a big smile on his face.
That's gotta be a Texan, I thought to myself, as I gave him a wave in return. Of course, I guess he could be any manner of Southerner. I probably shouldn't jump to conclusions based on such a quick utterance.
I stepped on the elevator, and the man was holding the door for me. I leaned over to press the button for my floor, and he waved his hand at me. "Hail, Ah God et. Whart flar?"
"Six, please. Thanks!" I answered.
"Tain't nuthern," he responded with a smile.
Just as the elevator reached my floor, I could no longer withstand the urge to confirm my assumption. "Where are you from originally, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Takes us. He a stun. Yew?"
"Me too," I said, with the smile of sudden belonging. "Lubbock."
"Wah hail!"
"Good to meet you," I said, as I stepped off the elevator. "Have a nice night."
"Sime tea uh," he responded, and nodded.
As many things that I don't miss about Texas, when I run into friendly Texans every once in a while, I can't help smiling.
* Incidentally, for those of you that'n speak English rather'n Texan, or th'other way yonder, this here's the conversation with our accents done swapped:
"Hi! How are you?"
". . ."
"Hell, I've got it. What floor?"
"Sakes, plaze. Thanky."
"It's nothing."
"Y'ain't firm rond ear aryeh?"
"Texas. Houston. You?"
"Luh Bick."
"Why, hell."
"Gudda meecha. Haver gud'n."
"Same to you."