Oz As

American cultural colonialism continues almost unchecked in all English speaking countries. I know of no Pom or Aussie, over the age of 30, who doesn’t understand most US vernacular. People under the age of 30 just seem to sound American.

 

But happily, some local differences do survive. One of them cropped up the other day and it really made me smile. Partly because it was a compliment; mainly because it was a very Australian style of compliment. I really can’t see it ever being a normal way to conduct flattery in down-town L.A.

 

At a dinner party recently (that went till four in the morning) I related to one of my hosts the story of how I bought my ute. He’s the kind of guy who’d appreciate this sort of thing. He has a ute too. It also allowed me to relate the story of a character (the car salesman) and chuck around a grossly exaggerated accent.

 

It goes a little something like this.

 

After some argy-bargy between me and the salesman that included the sorry state of my trade-in, I played my trump card. I was able to date how long the ute had been in the yard without him being able to shift it. I mixed that in with a touch of,

 

 “… during these worsening economic times, no one is buying big-ticket items.” 

He came back in his thick Balkan accent,

 

“Ahh mate! You are taking the moneys from my kid’s mouth!” Excellent.

 

He then followed up with the grimmest of grim Balkan faces, gripped his chin with his left hand, growled for a little while, and then jammed out his right hand and said,

 

“Alright, it is done!”

 

He then lightened, removed his ‘dealing’ face and said, “So, do you want a beer?”

 

Being the stick in the mud I am, I said,

 

“Mate, it’s ten in the morning!” I was waiting for him to offer a scotch.

 

I drove away, having traded a car that was close to exploding and getting the ute for just on half the advertised price. Everyone’s happy, except his children who have no money to eat.

 

As I mentioned, the dinner where I related the story ran very late and I ended up crashing on a spare bed, snuggled underneath their whippet. The next day the host drove me back to where Emergency Contact and I were supposed to be bunking.

 

As we pulled in behind my ute, host says,

 

“Ah, so this is it?”

 

“Yup, that’s the one.”

 

He gets out and circles it once, looks inside the cabin, looks at me and says,

 

“And you got it for five?”

 

“Yup.”

 

He then pays a truly Aussie compliment on my second-hand-car dealing acumen.

 

“Mate, it’s stolen.”