The Late Unpleasantness

Nearly every day, I continue to read the Post & Courier online, despite no longer living in Charleston. This morning I was reminded that it is the 150th anniversary of the shots on Fort Sumter. More commonly known as the Civil War; more regionally known as “The Late Unpleasantness.” I’m on the fence about how I feel remembering the Civil War in a near-celebratory way. Students of history would disagree with its theatrical portrayal in "Gone with the Wind" and would replace it with accounts of extreme violence and desperation. That said, this era in history is fascinating. The idea that the nation was once on the verge of an irreparable fracture, and this all started where I once lived is humbling. Charleston has an almost magical quality about it, and I will be forever grateful for having had the chance to live there for several years. Despite this, I’m really very pleased to be a citizen of the United States as opposed to the Confederate States.

I have an abundance of affection for the South. I was born here, and I plan to stay – as circumstances will allow. Now, I am the first to criticize some of the more absurd events that have a distinctly Southern flair. For instance, not so long ago in South Carolina, the state legislature passed a bill making cock fighting a felony. I mean, thank God for that. I was really losing sleep over the fate of Palmetto State poultry. At the same time, the legislature failed to make a repeat domestic violence offense a felony. (I hear “Dixie” start to play in my head, even as I’m typing this.) Then there are our lifestyle choices. This past weekend, I begrudgingly took my daughter to Chik-fil-A. (Vegetarian options here: Waffle Fries and an Ice Dream cup.) Next door was a Lindy’s Chicken joint that looks like it could either be one of those roadside gems with a questionable exterior and culinary ecstacy inside; or, it could just be a greasy dump where the mac n’ cheese serves a dual function as napalm. An ambulance pulls in between the two chicken establishments. I felt like singing “Song of the South” as a salute. God love us. Death by chicken. If you’re doing to die, do so deliciously. Hallelujah and Amen.

Here’s the thing: I’m allowed to criticize. Were you born above the Mason-Dixon, I’d suggest you don’t. Most of us are aware of the skeletons in the closet. You don’t have to remind us. But this isn’t stopping people. Not too long ago, I read a story in the P&C about something South Carolina was doing wrong. (Take your pick.) Long ago, I swore off reading the comments here because it’s like biting down on a cold sore, just to see how much pain you can handle. But nonetheless, I found myself perusing this unflattering snapshot of humanity. One comment just set me on fire. Commenter – let’s call her Snooki – said something to the effect of “Hey, I’m from New Jersey, where we obviously have it all figured out. Even so, I moved here so I could complain about you. Too bad these dumb Southern bubbas can’t seek out our Northern wisdom so that your state could also be one big petrochemical refinery and hair gel mecca.” (that’s a loose recollection of what Snooki said.) First of all, I have nothing against New Jersey. In fact, I quite like it. But what is it that you have to teach us, you ol’ carpetbagger? Last time I checked, you have rednecks up yonder too. That’s right. I’ve stopped at a gas station in the middle of the night in rural Pennsylvania. It made “Deliverance” look like a Sandals Resort vacation.

Here’s a recent message I received from a friend (Bostonian) on how I was misinterpreting something. He chalked it up to “regional differences,” and explained it thusly:

Example: someone is late to work and if they don't tighten the f--- up they're going to get fired.

Southern English:"Now Tammy darling we really need you to come in on time ok? It really just doesn't look good for us and you're such a valuable member of the team that we all need your happy face sitting at the front desk at nine am on the dot ok sweet heart? I love your blouse by the way you look lovely, oh my god, and is that a new hair do? Well Tammy, thank you and please just try to be here tomorrow on time sweetie pie, ok? We just don't know what we could do without you."

Tammy doesn't show up on time and then is shocked she is fired.

Northern English:"Tammy, if you do not arrive tomorrow and every subsequent day on time at nine am you will be terminated. Thank you and have a nice day."

Absolutely true. But, the thing is – this is what I love about the South. While the predominant theme of human relations becomes a cold, sanitized, calculated method of interacting, with an emphasis on efficiency and infrequency – by and large – we still resort to pleasantries. Sure, go ahead and question the sincerity. But a spoonful of sugar always did help the medicine go down easier. We’re essentially saying the same thing, but we do it with a comfortable sweetness. Where your day-to-day workings take on a wholly utilitarian purpose, we like to find the beauty in life. While far from perfect, I appreciate the South’s adherence to unnecessary niceties. If you disagree and insist on convincing me otherwise, expect a more current unpleasantness.