I'monna Cutchew (translation: I'm going to cut you)

Today's "fresh air" is something that could only happen in the south...I think.

My boss gave me a serrated blade, jack knife today. It was a first for me, maybe this happens more than I think, but in my nearly 50 years I have never once heard anyone say those words. "Hey guess what? My boss gave me a jack knife today." Nope doesn't ring a bell. This is how I came to be the recipient of such a gift.
Last week while performing routine patient care I had the misfortune of having a man threaten me and my co-worker. The man was raised in an area of New York City where nightmares come from. The man, who I will refer to from now on as "CHArLIE" (Crazy, Harlem, Asshole, Living now In Eastern NC), spent the first half of our encounter regaling us with stories of his sordid past in the streets of Harlem. These stories involved some well known mobsters, gang land rivalries, beat downs, and at least one bayonet. It's very hard to be polite when someone thinks gruesome tales meant to shock are appropriate fodder for small talk. I just don't know the correct professional response to " I once ran a man through with my bayonet for raping my friend's sister. He didn't die, but I sure taught him a lesson." I mean, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that's the worst flippin' story I ever heard, shut the hell up with the street justice shit," hardly seems professional. So I tried, "Oh my goodness, that's awful, I don't think I can stand hearing about such tragedy. Tell me about your recent illness." My hope was that CHArLIE would dig down and find the same "gallantry" he showed in protecting his friend's sister to protect my delicate sensibilities. My hopes were dashed. I will however protect my readers and not refer to any of the other macabre mayhem. We did finally get back on track and begin to explain the reason for his visit to the hospital and what our next steps would be. At some point during our explanation CHArLIE got nervous. He did not like some of the things required in order to improve his health and quality of life. My co-worker, also a transplanted northerner tried to go 'good ole boy' and cajole CHArLIE with off jokes comparing our treatments to a nagging house wife, something to the effect of "you can't live with it, you can't live without it." This quickly deteriorated into the aforementioned threat, CHArLIE told us "I'mma cut yew." I was ready to bolt, my co-worker still clinging to his 'good ole boy' routine jokingly said, "Hey now, I don't need to frisk you do I?" To which CHArLIE responded, "You think I'm kiddin? Try me." At this point we backed down and told him he only needed to do those things with which he was comfortable, what we were describing was optimal therapy but he was certainly free to choose his own quality of life and we were just here to support him in his efforts, blah, blah, blah. CHArLIE left and I hope I never have to see him again, call me hyper-sensitive, but there was just something about the way he said, "I'mma cut yew."
At this point you may be thinking "oh, I see it's a joke, her boss gave her knife as a joke, in case she ever has to see CHArLIE or any of his "people" again." That would be wrong. What happened next, I believe is so southern that it channelled the irony of "steel magnolias." After CHArLIE left, we went to tell our boss about our experience. Instead of the outrage on our behalf I was expecting her to respond with, she quietly reached under her desk, grabbed her purse and pulled out a switch blade. As she pushed the mechanism that springs the blade into it's working position she said, in the most genteel manner (think Dixie Carter), "Y'all should've come and got me. I would have shown him my little partner and said right back to him, 'you ain't gonna cut me, cause I'monna cutchew first, so sit back a take your medicine like a man or quit wasting my time sir.'" So many things about this are worthy of my admiration. I love the way she said 'I'monna cutchew,' it was dripping sweet tea but had little cold ice cubes of truth floating in it. I would put money on 'I'monna cutchew' over "I'mma cut yew' any day of the week. The other thing that I admire is that she ended it all with 'sir,' respectful and professional yet conveying the straighten up and fly right admonishment only a mother can get away with when dealing with a man like CHArLIE. I said none of this to her of course, I think these things in retrospect only. Instead I said, "You carry a switch blade in your purse?" She said, "You don't? Honey, how long you been living in the south? I thought you said your people was from here? Surely, they got knives in their pocket books?" I know that to the untrained reader the previous dialogue may make my boss seem ignorant, but in truth it's quite the opposite. She is very intelligent and can put together a sentence in a professional way with the best of them, she was just using her comfortable talk with me. It's the way we all talk when with our 'people,' no matter where you are from. So now you probably see the end of the story...When I got to work today, my boss came and found me. She said she had something special for me. She handed me a serrated blade, jack knife, "Welcome home, you are now one of us with a partner in your pocket book. Now put that in your lab coat pocket and get back to work darlin." I am currently practicing "I'monna cutchew" and opening and closing my knife without loosing a finger.