| Update 7 July 2004 by Hot Andrea, Field Correspondent |
| -- The Ultimate Boston Survival Guide -- |
| This morning on the radio, I heard the “air-talent” trashing the way southerners talk. Apparently, he just spent a week in Georgia and he feels that Southerners are difficult to understand when we speak. This is at least the third time in recent memory I have heard mention of this on the same morning show. A few months ago, he was decrying the fact that people from Florida in general (and Tom Petty specifically) are unintelligible. In light of this and in honor of the 16 month “anniversary” of my moving from the South to Boston, I would like to share with you the things I have learned. Call it a transplant’s survival manual, if you will. |
| 1. New Englanders have invented another language
What the hell is a “packy”? I mean, seriously. Apparently, “packy” is the preferred term for a liquor store in Boston. It’s a shortened version of “package store,” which I also don’t understand. Why is a liquor store called a package store? What the hell sense does that make? Why isn’t every retail establishment a package store? And NO ONE here can explain why it’s called that. No one. Ask any New Englander why the shit they call a liquor store a package store and they’ll give you the following highly intelligent answer: “I don’t know. That’s just what it’s called.” Other New England-isms include “water bubblers”, “rubbers”, and “elastics”. Not to mention “trash barrels”, “stickies”, and “tonic”. I nearly freaked the first time some guy suggested I buy rubbers. I thought he was incredibly forward until I realized he was referring to galoshes. I also looked mighty confused the first time someone asked me where the “water bubbler” is. I was like, “The what?” Water Bubbler is the totally not stupid name they’ve given to any type of water cooler with a spigot and attached bottle. Elastics are rubber bands, stickies are Post-It notes, tonics are soda or pop, depending on how you look at it. “Trash barrel” apparently refers to any type of trash receptacle, whether it looks like a barrel or not. Bunch of damn crazies. |
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| My favorite “packy” of all time. This one is actually in Salem, MA. |
| 2. There are no street signs in Boston
Get used to it. You will virtually never know what the hell street you’re on. Bostonians are really fastidious about putting numbers on every building, but you will discover almost a complete lack of street signs. Occasionally, they put signs on cross streets, but seemingly only at random. They seem to believe that once you’ve labeled a street once somewhere, you never need to do it again. For instance, I’m reasonably confident that Commonwealth Avenue has a sign somewhere near downtown, maybe in Kenmore Square. However, I live and work on opposite ends of Commonwealth Avenue. I don’t think there’s a single, solitary street sign between my office and my apartment. The real bitch was trying to go on job interviews when I first moved here. It’s hard to navigate downtown Boston when you’re entirely unfamiliar with your surroundings and there are no damn street signs. I would pour over maps for hours and leave my house 2 hours before my interviews, just hoping I’d be somehow able to find the one building I was looking for in downtown. Luckily, downtown Boston is pretty tiny. You can pretty much walk every single street and eventually find what you’re looking for in under an hour. Of course, the whole situation could be remedied if they only put up some damn signs! |
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| Show me a street sign, mofo. This is Comm. Ave. |
| 3. Bostonians have an irritating habit of shortening everything
The afore-mentioned Commonwealth Avenue is locally known as Comm. Ave. The Prudential Center downtown is known as “The Pru”. Filene’s Basement is “The Basement”. South Boston is “Southie”, East Boston is “Eastie”, and the list goes on. I guess it’s because people here are always in a hurry. They’re so busy and important that they can’t say the full names of things. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with creating their own language I think. If you came here and didn’t know anyone or anything about the city, you’d be fucked. You would never have a damn clue what people were talking about. Seriously, if you asked a local how to find something or how to get somewhere, all you would get is a series of abbreviations and local code. 4. Traffic rules are nonexistent If you really want to make sure your blood is flowing, try driving in Boston. There are no lane markers in the street, which is fine because the drivers wouldn’t use them anyway. No one believes in turn signals. The speed limit seems to be, at best, a suggestion no one heeds. I’m not sure why they bother posting it. Everyone tailgates. The horn is the greatest invention ever. You will get “the finger” every ten seconds. More than likely, unless it –10 degrees outside, someone will yell obscenities at you as they pass at high speeds because you’re not driving like they do. Satan trains toll collectors on the Pike for their jobs. They are rude and impatient, just like the drivers themselves. There’s a state law in Massachusetts that drivers have to stop to let pedestrians cross. Fuck that. They speed up and aim for your ass when you’re crossing. I cannot tell you how many times I have nearly been killed crossing the street. Even when I had the light! What the fuck? It does tend to make jaywalking much more exciting, though; sort of like high-stakes Russian roulette. Cars are also supposed to yield to the T when it’s above ground. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen that. Most times, the car just keeps rolling and STOPS dead in the center of the track, making the train stop and the driver incessantly hit that horrendous gong sound for minutes at a time until the car moves. Sometimes the T driver gets impatient enough to sit on the train’s air horn, a maneuver I particularly care for at midnight. |
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| Live through this! |
| 5. The way wicked retahded accent
I realize that Boston accents are widely parodied. Who hasn’t heard some fucktard talking about “pahking his cah in the yahd”? What you don’t realize is that the accent is worse than that. It’s nearly impossible for English-speaking folks the world over to understand what the piss Bostonians are talking about. Plus everyone here talks really fast. I’ve lived here for over a year now and I still sometimes have trouble discerning the true gist of what people are saying to me. If you’re new to Boston, or just visiting, try asking a local how to get somewhere. The conversation may sound something like this: “Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Fenway Park?” “Oh yeah. Go down Comm Ave, get on the T. Y’gonna get off at Kenmoah Squaeh and follow the signs to the Pahk. The drivah on the T will come on the speakah and tell you it’s Kenmoah” So you end up looking for Kenmoah, which is really Kenmore. It’s like going grocery shopping here for the first time, and someone tells you to go to Stah Mahket. It’s really Star Market, but you’d have to make them spell it to find out what the fuck they’re saying. A guy I know here was talking to me yesterday about going to “Bahabah,” which I eventually figured out was Boston-code for Bar Harbor, Maine. It’s all in what you’re used to, I guess. I still get made fun of for saying “ya’ll”. |
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| Green monstah! |
| The point is: Bostonians are no less difficult to understand than anyone else. It sounds like I’m trashing Boston. I’m really not. I love it here and I wouldn’t leave for anything. It’s like people who call Michael Moore unpatriotic just because he has some unkind words for the current administration. He’s not unpatriotic and I don’t hate Boston. It’s the idiosyncrasies here that I love. It’s the passion that Boston has for its sports teams, it’s the genuine love of a historical and beautiful city that everyone here has, and it’s the utterly unexpected random acts of kindness you occasionally experience here that make this city what it is. Everyone talks about New York being this amazing city where all the inhabitants are devoted to the city and they all pull together during crises, and blah blah blah. NYC can’t hold a candle to Boston. That’s a fucking fact. Those Yankee-lovers can stay right where they are and continue being anonymous angry New Yorkers. I’ll take cozy Boston anytime. I consider this post a love letter to my new home town. |
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| Ben Thompson: My Stupid Website. |
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