It seems we’re coming upon my Seattleversary very soon. I’ve given directions to Pike’s Market, inhaled coffee, worn plaid, discussed Chihuly and recycled enough to call myself a Seattleite, but it wasn’t until today that I officially became uptight. I was on the bus heading downtown, as usual, only lately my route has gotten crowded. I mean, that’s okay. I’m all about squeezing in next to the jagged haircut sporting art student hipster with the tiny dog and the guy in the webbed toe shoes who wants to tell me all about them. I don’t mind my forehead occasionally getting to know the elbow of the blonde on the cell phone talking about nothing. She’s cool. She’s on her path, living her life, not bothering me at all. What makes me uptight are the stone cold downward glances from the people in front of me who seem to be expecting me to move back into the bendy zone where there are no hand rails for someone, say, five feet tall. They can clearly look over my head and see that the back-back is full. I know they can because they do. They look over my head forlornly, like a herd of giraffes that needs nothing more than to get past me. They’ve just got to have that bendy zone. So, I move aside and the herd moves back quickly. Leaving the one without a means to find their bearings. Realizing the lack of handrail, they try to backtrack to their surrendered spot only to have that dream shattered. Now, we’re sharing a pole. Their arm above my head. Sure, I could look on the bright side, I now have a working knowledge of every deodorant on the market, but that wouldn’t be very Seattle of me.
A (Newly) Uptight Seattleite
P.S. Swore I saw you on Phinney Ridge last weekend. Looking fit.