The dandelion

There was an out-of-state couple at the DMV today. They had forgotten to bring cash, and the lady had to leave to get some money from an ATM. They were appalled that the Georgia DMV didn't accept debit/credit cards. The attitude of the DMV attendent was, "If you don't like it, you can always go back to whatever midwestern state you came from...don't you know that we have never recovered technologically from the war of Northern Aggression?!" The husband kept saying "My land!" about everything, which made me laugh inwardly. (Because he obviously wasn't in "his land.")

I, a mere bystander, did not take sides. I knew, however, that I didn't want to be construed as "other," by the already agitated attendent. I had been here for a year without changing my address, and I knew that you are supposed to change it within sixty days by law. So I used my best Southern drawl when speaking to everyone involved. It's always been my rule of thumb here in Georgia that when in doubt, use the Southern drawl. Since a very young age, I've found that it was a survival mechanism of mine to learn, in seconds, to speak in the accent of the people surrounding me. My mother used to laugh at me when, even before I learned to speak German, I would speak English with a German accent to my German friends.

She told me that in the flora world, I would have been a great dandelion. Easily transported. Easily adapted. Easily supplanted. I would've made a great spy if not for the blasted fact that I can't keep a secret to save my life. (I suppose in the fauna world, I'd be a singing canary.)