Sitting a few hundred miles south of New York State is a land
lost in time.A strange place indeed. Recently I had to travel there to attend to some business and was
greeted with what is known as true southern hospitality. With drinks in hand and seated around a
table with a group of acquaintances I
was introduced to a "new comer" to the already established group
in a very simple but direct way... While politely pointing at me the intro from the host of the get together went as such: "This here is a Yankee boy who you might
actually like"...with me.... being the Yankee boy. WHAT??
Being on the dark side of sixty years of age I am a long,
long way from being called a boy by anyone. As far as a Yankee, well I guess you got me
there. However, These southerners are still fighting "the war".
State's Rights, integration, Equal Rights, segregation, President Obama, FOX
News, are all topics I wish to avoid
when south of Mason Dixon, especially after a few Diet Cokes. But those topics are generally
brought up after a few bourbons, the drink of choice for my compatriots. Making sure I have been consistent with taking my blood pressure
medicines so I don't blow a fuse I sometimes am ready to "take up arms" and
fight the war, again. Other times it is too futile to even try. A wise man once
told me you can't change a negative to a
positive and as hard as you try the negative will only be further ingrained.
So the business "This Yankee Boy" needed was to get some construction work done by the locals AKA The Yokels. While all
smiles when the construction expert arrives to price out the various jobs, as soon as I speak I hear, "where y'all from in New Yawk? You ain't from deez parts now
're ya?" Screwed before I start. I
know the quote just went up, substantially. A few head nods, a scratch or two
from the pencil on a pad and a promise to "Call ya later" was made by the contractor.
Now " later" to me, The Yankee Boy, would be that afternoon
or evening. But, no, how naive on my part. " Later" can be anytime
from an hour or four (reasonable) to the " Day After Hell Freezes Over".
Attempting to call them on the
phone only gets their voice mail
"Yo, dis be Bobbie Joe Construction, leave da message and I'll get back at
cha .Remember yo business means everythang to us." Eventually, usually four days and two attempts
at phone contact I tend to give up.
Hedging my bets I contacted at least four quotes for each
specific job needing subcontracting. Occasionally I lucked out and got a call,
estimate, and contract within a few hours. New problem occurs when the
contractors said, after dropping off machinery and supplies, "See ya
tomorrow." Shoot, I never asked
what" tomorrow" meant as one
day led into the next and finally on to a third day...almost Biblical. Then it
occurred, The New York in me came out, came out with a vengeance. I spewed
information about "time is money", and many other items which I cannot
repeat. They shook their heads and said, " What's up with him?".
Next trip, I bring a group with me, someone who understands
this Yankee boy.
