A Different Person


Our son’s flying to Australia for a couple weeks to visit his cousins . . .

Australian flag

I’m talking to people at LAX in a fake Australian accent. My Australian accent is not all that tight except on words with a long “a” sound, which I replace with a long “i” sound, e.g., “mate” becomes “mite.”

“Sorry, mite,” I say, as I roll a suitcase over a gentleman’s foot.

“Did you just say what I thought you said?” my son asks.

“When you travel,” I explain, “you can be a whole different person.”

We take the bags over to the baggage scanner. I know we don’t have to wait for them but since “wait” has a long “a” sound, I ask the woman, “Do I ‘ave to white?”

“No,” she says.

“Jus’ drope i’ oaf then?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.

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