There is something very nice about being out of the suburbs. It is impossible to feel alone in the city. When you can hear your neighbors sneeze from inside their house, you get the feeling you’re very much in a shared space.
When I first moved here I laughed at the signs demanding a ban on gas powered mowers and whackers. Realizing my neighbor had been outside with either a manual or electric mower and that I hadn’t heard a thing the whole time was shocking for me.
I had previously written elsewhere about my disdain for the loudness of landscapers that always seemed to be working on someone’s lawn near my home in the suburbs. Working from home is great and that was one of my few complaints. The ceaseless loud vibrations from a ride on mower anywhere from 8am-2pm.
It’s a shared space here and people respect each other from what I’ve seen thus far.
You have to acknowledge your neighbors in the city. We only have one neighbor who just may dislike us. Everyone else seems pretty alright.
However, walking on the streets, the rules seem to change. People mind their own business. I feel like quite the stranger eyeballing every passerby, but that is what I did back home before smiling and saying hello. I understand the desire to just be left alone though so it’s something I’m adjusting for myself.
Occasionally, someone does have something to say. There was some mother apologizing for squeezing by me on the bridge path with her child on the backseat of her bike. No problems!! I like to be acknowledged and like to let people know I am unbothered by them doing their thing.
Or how I was waiting in line, by myself, waiting to place an order in the busy coffee shop with a young mother, father, and their baby son. The baby must’ve gotten confused on where his father was because suddenly something had latched to the back of my right leg with small human-like force and grip.
Breaking my neck to turn around all I can see is the top of this baby, nuzzling into my leg, with the mother attempting to pull him off. A woman nearby began laughing and the father, standing behind the mother, says to me “hey, I guess you have a kid now!”.
She tried to apologize, but honestly, I was happy to be mistaken. Kids are just innocent and loving little beings. My oldest cousin has a 1 and a half year old and he is just so fun to watch. It’s given me baby fever. It spun me into gear to find a wife of my own for a period of time. Maybe this little guy will start things up again.
It lit up my weekend. It’s not exactly something I can share with the coworkers on Monday without a lot of prefacing and storytelling. Storytelling is typically frowned upon. Well, more the intense monologuing and scene setting kind of storytelling that I am obnoxiously inclined towards performing for uncaring audiences.
Anyways, the story I wanted to tell…I go to this Trader Joe’s near me because I am too uninterested in cooking real food and lean into the impeccable frozen meal selection there.
I’ve gone twice. It’s expensive, alright?!
The first time, I was approached in the parking lot by an older man of unknown origins. He had an accent I could not detect. My best guess was Eastern European possibly into Asia. He asked me a thousand questions about my car and whether I thought it was better than a Tesla. I told him I would say it’s an excellent car and an amazing improvement from the 06 and 08 Accords I’d driven before. I’ve never ridden a Tesla but I don’t much care for them. If it hadn’t been so busy on the roads I would’ve offered him a test drive. He thanked me for my honesty and as I left he pulled out and waved goodbye.
The second time, just yesterday in the pouring rain around 3. I brought my own bag this time, bagged for myself and everything! Woo!
I sped out of the store, rain jacket up, and moved through the cars parked facing each other for speed purposes. I mean it was downpour.
As I reach my car I hear a voice, en garde, I turn and face the voice to find an older black woman in an LPN uniform, asking for help in broken English. Something about parking wrong. I did think about my safety for a moment then I tossed my bag in my car, locked it, and followed her.
She’s pointing at this black sedan and I immediately saw the problem. She must’ve whipped into the spot and done so far too tightly. She nearly scraped her whole right side off the other cars back left side. There was about 3-4 inches of room. Looking at it though I could see that she could straighten the wheel and reverse straight back and get out of the situation.
She gave me a look, a look I’ve seen countless times.
I can’t do it. I didn’t call you over here for instructions. Can you do it?
“You want me to do it?”
“Yes. Please.”
I hop in the drivers seat and nearly crumple myself to death. Scooting the seat back 8 inches I take inventory. She comes up to the window and points to the parking brake, which is inexplicably pulled up. Releasing it, I focus on straightening the wheels, checking to make sure, as I realize I have just positioned myself to be on the hook for any damage caused. Ever confident in my driving abilities – my abilities to recover from a driving fuck-up – I begin reversing and turn her out of the spot safely. I catch a glimpse of her momentary panic through the rear window, before pulling back into the spot.
She thanks me and I, eager to get out of the rain, forget to mention I accidentally reclined the seat and pushed it back quite a bit.
Feeling accomplished. I sit back in my car. Stunned at what just occurred.
I am a good person (?)
I thought about a particular mistake of mine. A jeopardizing (vandalism) incident of which I was spared the worst consequences by an unexpectedly forgiving family. They saved me.
You don’t make up for your sins in church.
You do it on the streets, you do it at home.
The rest is bullshit and you know it.
Blanc Thoughts 