Part Two Rebuff By Leigh Novak
I moved out to Washington about a year ago now, and in that time I have been somewhat quietly absorbing Seattle, taking in all the nuances that I can use against the city in my ongoing efforts to prove to absolutely nobody who cares that Chicago is a far superior urban setting, richer with culture, denser with black people (I miss black people), and what the hell is this puny piece-of-shit skyline anyway? Are we allowed to call it that here? I should not be able to count all the tall buildings on one-and-a-half hands. And where is the logic to this street intertwinement? This is your best excuse for a grid?
I have this rant aloud and to myself at least twice a week as I drive into work. It’s usually the mornings that I can anticipate a bad day ahead and my morning cup of joe just ain’t cuttin’ it. That’s when I really pick on Seattle. And it only gets worse the closer I get to my building.
It’s 5:45 a.m. in Seattle, so you know what that means! Time for a freight train to come cruising through the tracks in the downtown area, stopping me dead in mine, within a perfect view of my office. This common inconvenience often prevents me from getting to the building at that crucial turnaround when the parking goes from sweet to sour.
Because by the time the train passes through the downtown streets, it is 5 minutes to 6, and I get to the parking spots only to wait for Dipshits A through E to figure out how to back their cars into slots at at passable interpretations of perpendicular angles (they are artsy here – nothing is logical). Then my walk is that much longer, and there are that many more slow-walking Seattleans that I need to breeze by on the sidewalk because, in the city from where I come, people know how to pick up their feet. It’s a survival skill. Seattleans would be stampeded if they approached Chicago with the same head-up-my-ass assertiveness to foot transportation.
But just the same, I also focus on the charming subtleties of Seattle, and Washington even moreso. I need to . . . in order to convince myself that I really want to live here. Before I moved, I was warned that I had a predisposition to assume superiority in attitude solely because I am a proud Chicagoan. I was warned that I would tenaciously resist convincing of another city’s desirability. Even when Chicagoans move by choice, like I did, we still have a tendency to shut out our new locations because they just are not right. I have been aware of this proneness from the get-go and have done my best to tame my inescapable prejudice. Even in the face of horrible, dispiriting, uninspiring, sad and sorry slices of pizza. And even harder yet when, after 23 years, I am no longer able to honestly and proudly declare that: “In my entire life, I have never met a slice of pizza that I didn’t like.” Seattle robbed me of my bad pizza virginity.
So, have I moved beyond this imbedded barrier of snobbery and rebuffery? Ehhhhh. I’d like to think that I am now standing next to the barrier, contemplating my attempt to get over it. But it’s just so damn hard to make that move when Seattle is simply downright embarrassing, and urbanly challenged in so many ways.
“City” is a strong word to use when describing Seattle. I know that it technically classifies and all, but when I think city, I think edginess and diversity. Seattle is about as edgy and diverse as a Death Cab For Cutie concert in Naperville. Most people have an image that they are striving to perfect – that Seattle cool. However, it is difficult to be cool merely through the association of your locale. Ask a Seattle resident why they are cool, and they’ll tell you because they live in Seattle. Whereas I believe that a good city should make you cool through the experiences you have with it, the way it toughens you up, shapes your interests, and instills some passion within you. Seattleans lack that fiery passion. Too much organic food maybe?
I truly am not here for the city – it’s the nature that drew me to the West Coast. And I spend most weekends deliberately driving full-speed away from Seattle, to the Pacific Ocean, to surf and camp and enjoy the stunning serenity found on the edge of this country. I could go on about the splendor of a state that combines so many natural elements and ecosystems within its borders. But I would much rather depart with a specific example of a recent occurrence that absolutely chafed my Chicago ass.
*
Like I said before, the closer I get to work, the quicker my blood boils. A couple weeks ago, I was suddenly stopped by a changing red light just a couple blocks away from my building. I looked around for another car that could have triggered the change and found only a pedestrian . . . standing at the intersection, waiting for the walk symbol. I almost floored it through the intersection and hit the dude, out of principle. This guy actually stood at the desolate corner during a red light and pushed the walk button to get the green . . . at 5:45 AM, when I was the only car in plain sight.
This would never happen in Chicago! Those pedestrian “requests” are reserved only for desperate times. Even when traffic is dense and the pedestrian is in the middle of a block, far from any formal walkway (I think they have a name for those), the Chicago pedestrian will still walk out into the road and just kinda hope someone stops. It’s called assertiveness and getting somewhere. None of this waiting for signals bullshit.
Just as my dad would say as he hustled us through downtown Chicago streets as children, “You gotta go when you can – not when you have to.” He would also tell us this during pit stops on long road trips, stretching the meaning to apply for movements of the bladder and bowels. Solid words to live by.
–
Previously:
* Part One: Departure. Maybe a sprinkle of Neutral Milk Hotel around Montana.
Posted on March 24, 2008