A Poke By Any Other Name

Having lived in several parts of the country, we have encountered come odd colloquialisms. Growing up in Western Pennsylvania we thought everyone drank pop. We didn't have to travel too far to get some odd looks and have to be told by the waitress, "You want soda, honey." It has taken me years to get used to this. In fact, I hate to give in, so I usually call it soda pop. It communicates what I want and I don't feel like I have compromised too much.

Another Western PA thing was to call a bag a poke. If I asked a cashier in a supermarket for a poke now -- she'd probably give me one. Which doesn't make any sense. If I were thrown in jail, you could say they put me in the pokey but it would be wrong to say they but me in the baggie.

When I was in Texas I realized they were calling the trunk of the car the turtle. I can almost understand this one. The hump-back shape of the trunk lid in the older model cars did look turtle-like. And it was the slowest part of the car, getting there last and all.

In South Carolina we ran across a couple more. Down there you don't push a button, you mash it. I wonder what they called mashed potatoes? Maybe they just baked them then pushed them around on their plate with a fork for a while. It might explain why they all switched to grits. They also said "Hey" instead of "Hi". Where I grew up, if someone said, "Hey, John!", they were trying to get my attention. So when I first started working in South Carolina, six or eight people every morning would say, "Hey, John.." So naturally I would go over to see what they wanted. That is a lot of silly conversations for one morning.

In the Boston area, if you want a milkshake, you need to order a frappe. If you do order a milkshake, they will give you flavored milk with no ice cream in it.

And then there are submarine sandwiches. This is different all over the country. They are also known by heros and hoagies. A baked hoagie is a grinder. Except in a little deli in Anderson, South Carolina that was run by an Indian guy (the Slurpee kind -- not the tee-pee kind). Besides making the aforementioned sandwich, he also served gyros. Only he pronounced them "hero." So I walked in, checked out the menu, ordered a hero and got a gyro. By the time I left there I was a "veddy, veddy BAD man!"

I tell you all this because this morning my wife said she was going to poke her head out the door to see how cold it was. And I thought, back home, I'd be sending my bag out to do the same thing.