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August 4, 2008
seattle times
Last week I was working from home when a woman identifying herself as my neighbor brought by a pie. Had I known her, I would have gushed with gratitude and devoured it. But since I'd never before laid eyes on her, I gushed with gratitude and chucked the pie into the trash as soon as she left. I enrage way too many geriatric motorists to be eating their unsolicited mystery pies.
But it was nice. Except for Percy, I seldom interact with anyone in my neighborhood. "Maybe people aren't such complete shits after all," I thought.
Later that day, I went to a low-rent grocery store. A stranger, a 35ish guy tattooed from his fingertips to his armpits, smiled at me. I smiled back. You have to understand, for a midwesterner in the Seattle area, this is a moment of nearly religious significance. And then the guy grabbed my forearm.
"Hey, brother, how are you today? Brother, it's really humiliating, but I blew my valve gasket in the parking lot and would really appreciate it if you can lend a hand and this isn't a scam because you can see my family waiting for me out there (I craned my head, but I saw no family) and I need to buy oil but oil is six bucks and I can't walk home from here and brother, this is really humiliating, but I was wondering..."
It went on for about five minutes and 18 "brothers," but you get the drift. Something about white guys calling me "brother" really bugs me.
"All you need is six bucks?" I said. At that point, I would have paid $1200 to make him go away.
Two days later, another neighbor knocked on my door. He introduced himself, said we'd met once. (Not unlikely. I never remember people. It stems from my not caring about them.) He clarified that it was his wife who had brought by the pie, and oh, by the way, would I mind if they used my beach stairs in perpetuity?
posted by john at 1:41 PM • permalink