Inter-regional Vocabulary - It's Complicated.

I recently read this post on Dead Class Pets, and it brought back a rather embarrassing moment for me...

I was born here in Utah, but grew up pretty much all over the place. By the time I was 18 I had moved twenty times. Because of this, I adapt really easily to change, (in fact thrive on it), and I've experienced many different sub-cultures within our dear United States.

When I was 20, I was living back here in Utah for a spell and working at a telecom company. One day I was sitting in my cubicle entering addresses into a database, when a man who was in town for a conference popped his head over the wall of the cube and said, "Excuse me, can you tell me where I can get a pop?"

I just stared at him blankly. I knew I should know what he was talking about, but it was like he had spoken in a strange dialect which needed deciphering before I could respond. I think my mouth was hanging open, and I began to panic as more time passed in brain-freeze mode.

The man looked at me for a minute, and finally realized that I was having trouble understanding English. He raised his eyebrows and said, "I think you call it soda here?"

And then it all made sense. He wanted a Coke from the SODA machine!! I felt like such a dumb hick. My face filled with the red-hot blood of humiliation as I pointed to the hallway behind him and said, "It's the first door on the right." Also happened to be the only door on the right, but oh well, I was on a roll.

I decided after that incident that if I could no longer translate vocabulary from one region's traditions to another, then I'd been in one place too long. So we moved to Washington, where soda is called pop, and I'm proud to say that I can now interchange both words without any spasms of stupid fogging my brain.

Flavors of Utah

I spent enough time in Utah during my childhood to know that it was the only place you could find chocolate Twizzlers. Each time we made a trip to visit family here, the To Do List consisted of popping in to say hello to Grandma Erla so she could remind my father what a naughty child he had been and ask him why he had to live so far away, checking out the contents of Grandpa and Grandma McClurg's cookie drawer, playing with cousins at Grandma Kay's house and taking our turn in fetching her elephant sized purse for her, spending a day at Lagoon, hitting the Jade Terrace for ham fried rice and fried shrimp, and eating chocolate licorice.

About a year ago, Twizzlers changed the recipe for their chocolate licorice, boasting that it was now made with Hershey's syrup, which was supposed to impress us, but in reality, the licorice was ruined. They took my artificially flavored waxy goodness and turned it into nothing special. Hershey's syrup has robbed me of one of the best things about Utah, and I haven't bought a bag since.

Utah was also the home of a majority of my favorite restaurants. Many of them have gone the way of the once delicious Chocolate Twizzlers. There was Mr. Z's, Jade Terrace, Charlie Chow's, and Schlotzsky's Deli - all of which are out of business, too far away, or began to smell like bathroom. Such a pity. There's nowhere left with good Chinese. Olive Garden is now the only local Italian. And when I really need a sandwich on rye, I have to make it myself. I take comfort that at least we still have Wingers.

The Beehive State is also stocked with caffeine-free Dr. Pepper. I swear it tastes different than regular Dr. Pepper. However, Barq's root beer is made here without caffeine, and it tastes the same. I can't explain it, but that is the truth.

Utah did introduce me to one drink that I can still coax most restaurants to make for me, but if not, then I am capable of doing it at home. The heavenly Chocolate Coke. You may be a fan of Cherry Coke, or Vanilla Coke, but until you've tried a Chocolate Coke, you don't know what you're missing.

So today I thought to myself, "Self, we are having a lovely day. A day that is worthy of a chocolate coke, and we just so happen to have a two liter bottle of Coca-cola in the fridge." So I went to make one, because nothing would go better with a chocolate frosted doughnut than a chocolate laced Coke, right?... but as it so happens, we have no Hershey's syrup. I now find myself in a very strong love-hate relationship with Hershey. He's never there when I need him, but pops up in the most unwelcome places. I suppose I'll have to drink my Coke naked today.

I'm sure they're all nice, normal people. Just like me.

I was browsing through a magazine of local ads that comes in my mail every month or so, and I stumbled upon this picture which was part of an advertisement for a hair salon. It was really painful to have all the coke I was trying to swallow shoot through my nose.

My first instinct was to ridicule them relentlessly for the insane way that they had intentionally styled their hair. Who in their right mind would willingly let one of these women get anywhere near their hair with a pair of scissors or a bowl of color and a fist full of foil?

And then I remembered that I am trying to be a nice person who never speaks ill of anyone. So I decided to give each of them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe each woman had a completely logical reason to be sporting the do's that they are so proudly showing off? I bet I can figure out just what they are, too.

The woman front row, center, "Brenda", is smirking slightly because last week, the girl in the back with the black and white hair, ("Jazzmin") talked her into getting a Brazilian Wax, and as pay-back, she decided not to tell "Jazzmin" which day the photographer would be coming in to take the company picture. "Brenda" is usually a very kind person, but a Brazilian wax is not to go unpunished.

"Jazzmin" slept on her left side all night, having used an entire bottle of hair glue as well as a hefty amount of colored hairspray the evening before as part of her skunk costume in a performance of Peter Pan, where she played one of the Lost Boys. She crashed into bed when she got home without washing her hair or setting her alarm. She woke up the next morning ten minutes after she was supposed to leave for work at the salon, and rushed out the door without so much as a glance in the mirror. Had she known that it was picture day, she would have taken the time to shower the glue and colored hairspray from her locks before heading to work, even though she would have been late. She is now plotting her revenge on "Brenda" sitting so smugly in the center of the picture with her almost completely normal hair. The thought of getting even is the only reason she can muster up a smile as the photographer snaps the photo that "Jazzmin" knows will be seen in the homes of 2,500 Utahans.

Girl on the right, middle row, we'll call her "Val", is just really confused right now and doesn't know why there are bright flashes of light coming at her. She's very glad that the nice man standing near all that strange looking equipment keeps telling her to "Smile!" It reminds her that everything will be okay. Being as lost and confused as she is, one cannot expect her to know what is going on on the back of her head.

There was a lot of chaos going on at the salon on the day of the photo shoot, and someone carelessly left their blow dryer's cord trailing across the floor. "Daisy", (front row, left), was running to the bathroom to check her make-up when she tripped on that cord, flew through the air, and somehow hit both sides of her head on the reception desk. She landed with such force that the oak desk was cracked and her hair, which is normally all one color, began to turn red, almost like a bruise! The sides of her skull also began to form giant goose-eggs, giving the impression that her head actually has corners. She's hoping that the effects will last long enough for the medical field to determine if she is the only person in the world with hair capable of changing color after traumatic impact. If she is, in fact, unique, she may be able to land a spot on Oprah with Dr. Oz telling her why she is so special. "Daisy" always manages to see the bright side of life.

"Erica", (middle row, left), was simply so scared when "Daisy" took her little spill, that her hair stood right up on end, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not tease it back down to it's normal position before the photographer arrived. She's very relieved that "Daisy" is alright, as it was her blow dryer that caused the accident, and she didn't want to get sued or fired.

And finally, "Shawn", (front row, right), has a very inspiring story. Ten years ago she was sixteen and in the midst of her rebellious years. She happened to be at a party one night, when excited shouts carried over the blaring ACDC, and she found that she was the cause of all the commotion. "I can see!" cried a young man standing with his hand in a chip bowl, looking vaguely in her direction. "I can see something! What is it?" As it turned out, this boy eating chips was blind, had been since birth, and had never seen anything - not even color - in his entire life. But that night at the party, he caught his first and only glimpse into what the rest of us see every day. He saw the "Vicious Rose" color that "Shawn" had dyed her hair. It was so bright, and so unnatural, that it somehow registered in his broken eyes' color-detecting cones. It was a genuine miracle! "Shawn" had been his color in the darkness, and they were never apart again. It really was love at first sight. As the years went by, "Shawn" moved on from her rock n' roll and chains phase, but her hair remained the only thing that her love could see, and so she really couldn't change it, could she?

I admit defeat. I failed in my attempt to be kind today. I simply couldn't help myself, so let the hate mail flow freely! I just really, really hope that the girl in the back is actually a nail tech or a masseuse and never actually touches anyone's head.

A Conversation With Cameron

Me: Cam, do you want to wear your Mountain Dew t-shirt to school?

Cam: No, it's not allowed.

Me: Why wouldn't it be allowed?

Cam: Because it's disrespectful.



I think we've lived in Utah too long.