The Greek Grocer
He had just opened a store on our street and in a Lady Bountiful spirit
of helping him out, I went in to do a little trading. I told him I would
like a can of baked beans. Baked beans, but he didn't seem to
understand. So pointing over the counter where they were in plain sight,
I said with all my teeth and tongue: "Baaked Beens." He followed my
finger. "Oh," he said correcting me, "You min Purrk ind Bins."
That was the beginning and for weeks that Greek has been correcting my
pronunciation. There is no use to argue about it. The fellow has no
reverence for Noah Webster and besides there are more Greeks, nowadays,
than Yankees, and their way is probably getting to be the right way.
Sometimes I think it is we who are the "foreigners."
Once it was cauliflower. Now, I say cauliflower exactly as it is spelled
but that isn't right. It is "Culliefleur," said staccato. And honey -
one day I wanted honey and after I had sung "Hunnie, hunnie" in high C,
and he didn't understand, I went around and picked out a jar of it.
"Oh," he said reproachfully, "you min hawney."
A Scotch woman had a scene with him the other day over some "paeper."
There is no way of spelling it as she said it. She kept repeating it and
he kept getting the wrong thing. No, she didn't want paper but "paeper"
- seasoning for the table - salt and "paeper.
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