Michigana
I'm tired of the lie that Midwesterners are straight-taahkin', haanest-dealin', friendly blond goyim. Midwesterners are mean!
anarqueso got me thinking about this with her post about community. Readers, I am rarely depressed. I mean, I get "depressed", like when it's gray outside and I'm bored and broke, and I have a hunger headache and I see a poster for a Michael Douglas movie. But real depression is something I've been lucky enough to avoid.
But since moving here, this depression has been creeping up on me. For the first time in my life, I am a total failure at making friends. Seriously, high school was hard. Middle school was hard. But I always had friends. That was never the problem. My problem was with authority. But now suddenly I am in a position of authority, and I am totally lonely.
I don't know exactly what the problem is. I was trying to gather up some anecdotes to make fun of this place, but I'm too sad. Here are some unembellished examples of me being rejected and abused by Michiganders:
UPS lady: So that pyaahckage will bee there aat aprahximately too p.m. E.T.A. Ehstimayted time of arrival.
Me: Oh, thank you so much! I didn't know UPS could do an E.T.A.! [laugh]
UPS lady: [frostily] Good-bye. [hangs up]
Me: Excuse me, do you have anything like dish towels or dish rags?
Mean bearded man: [silence]
Me: I just need something to wipe off my countertops, you know...any kind of rag or cloth...
Mean bearded man: [silence]*
Me: [make some kind of apparently over-the-top-big-NY-Jew gesture with my hands and probably every muscle in my face, as in, "please, take all day"]
Mean bearded man: Whoa! Easy. [languidly moving one arm as though through mercury] Over there.
Me: Thanks [leaves]
Mean bearded man: Wait! [laughs disparagingly**] Over there, [pause meaningfully as though teaching me a lesson] downstairs.
Me: You mean, downstairs, in that corner.
Mean bearded man: [shakes head no] Yes! Yes!
Me: OK, thanks a lot. [leaves]
Pickled-looking woman wearing holiday sweatshirt: Wait! You're looking for LINENS?!
Mean bearded man: [in a burst of salesmanship] Ahbviously ahll ahr linens are grooped by theme. Yer Christmas linens are gonna be with the other Christmas items.
Me: [slowly] OK. Thanks a lot. [goes downstairs, there are absolutely no linens anywhere in the vicinity of the corner Mean Bearded Man has indicated. The linens are in fact hidden under a pile of fur capes, in the middle of the room, crowned by some kind of animal skull. I am not making that up. It is not funny, and even depressed I'm not that bad of a writer.
*Is it some kind of like Swedish witticism to just not respond to a direct question?
**What is up with acting like the fact that I'm not born 'n' raised here, as in here in this store, ought to make me ashamed? See also, [incredulous] "You dunno where the Jimmy Johns*** is?!" and my patient response with wide eyes and ingratiating smile "I'm new here. I don't know where anything is", answered with flustered grumbling, as though I have moved to their town purely to annoy them, followed by a begrudging answer which is inevitably that what I'm looking for a)doesn't exist, b)requires a car and/or c)is at The Briarwood Mall [which naturally b)].
***Syntax unknown. Purveyor of perhaps the world's only COLD BACON SANDWICH. With NO OPTION TO REHEAT. [Edit- this BL-no-T may be the trayfest thing I've ever seen. You'll have to ask superchango what it tasted like, although connoisseur of trayf that he is, he threw 2/3 of it away after repeated requests to heat it, crisp it, or otherwise fix it were met with stony stares and the obviousness that Jimmy Johns (sp? I prefer to think of it as "John" as in "bathroom") HAS NO OVEN. Why would you possibly want any sort of heat-generating mechanism when the best January treat is cold, soggy bacon, draped over a mound of mayonnaise smothering limp shredded lettuce. Available only in footlong increments, on wonder-sub. Price: $3.25. Trayfer than olive loaf on white with a glass of warm whole milk? Trayfer than cheez whiz/pepperoni canapes garnished with mini shrimps? You decide.]
Edit 2: Oh my god. I just looked it up, and it's not only a national chain but much, much worse than my sarcasm could ever convey.
anarqueso got me thinking about this with her post about community. Readers, I am rarely depressed. I mean, I get "depressed", like when it's gray outside and I'm bored and broke, and I have a hunger headache and I see a poster for a Michael Douglas movie. But real depression is something I've been lucky enough to avoid.
But since moving here, this depression has been creeping up on me. For the first time in my life, I am a total failure at making friends. Seriously, high school was hard. Middle school was hard. But I always had friends. That was never the problem. My problem was with authority. But now suddenly I am in a position of authority, and I am totally lonely.
I don't know exactly what the problem is. I was trying to gather up some anecdotes to make fun of this place, but I'm too sad. Here are some unembellished examples of me being rejected and abused by Michiganders:
UPS lady: So that pyaahckage will bee there aat aprahximately too p.m. E.T.A. Ehstimayted time of arrival.
Me: Oh, thank you so much! I didn't know UPS could do an E.T.A.! [laugh]
UPS lady: [frostily] Good-bye. [hangs up]
Me: Excuse me, do you have anything like dish towels or dish rags?
Mean bearded man: [silence]
Me: I just need something to wipe off my countertops, you know...any kind of rag or cloth...
Mean bearded man: [silence]*
Me: [make some kind of apparently over-the-top-big-NY-Jew gesture with my hands and probably every muscle in my face, as in, "please, take all day"]
Mean bearded man: Whoa! Easy. [languidly moving one arm as though through mercury] Over there.
Me: Thanks [leaves]
Mean bearded man: Wait! [laughs disparagingly**] Over there, [pause meaningfully as though teaching me a lesson] downstairs.
Me: You mean, downstairs, in that corner.
Mean bearded man: [shakes head no] Yes! Yes!
Me: OK, thanks a lot. [leaves]
Pickled-looking woman wearing holiday sweatshirt: Wait! You're looking for LINENS?!
Mean bearded man: [in a burst of salesmanship] Ahbviously ahll ahr linens are grooped by theme. Yer Christmas linens are gonna be with the other Christmas items.
Me: [slowly] OK. Thanks a lot. [goes downstairs, there are absolutely no linens anywhere in the vicinity of the corner Mean Bearded Man has indicated. The linens are in fact hidden under a pile of fur capes, in the middle of the room, crowned by some kind of animal skull. I am not making that up. It is not funny, and even depressed I'm not that bad of a writer.
*Is it some kind of like Swedish witticism to just not respond to a direct question?
**What is up with acting like the fact that I'm not born 'n' raised here, as in here in this store, ought to make me ashamed? See also, [incredulous] "You dunno where the Jimmy Johns*** is?!" and my patient response with wide eyes and ingratiating smile "I'm new here. I don't know where anything is", answered with flustered grumbling, as though I have moved to their town purely to annoy them, followed by a begrudging answer which is inevitably that what I'm looking for a)doesn't exist, b)requires a car and/or c)is at The Briarwood Mall [which naturally b)].
***Syntax unknown. Purveyor of perhaps the world's only COLD BACON SANDWICH. With NO OPTION TO REHEAT. [Edit- this BL-no-T may be the trayfest thing I've ever seen. You'll have to ask superchango what it tasted like, although connoisseur of trayf that he is, he threw 2/3 of it away after repeated requests to heat it, crisp it, or otherwise fix it were met with stony stares and the obviousness that Jimmy Johns (sp? I prefer to think of it as "John" as in "bathroom") HAS NO OVEN. Why would you possibly want any sort of heat-generating mechanism when the best January treat is cold, soggy bacon, draped over a mound of mayonnaise smothering limp shredded lettuce. Available only in footlong increments, on wonder-sub. Price: $3.25. Trayfer than olive loaf on white with a glass of warm whole milk? Trayfer than cheez whiz/pepperoni canapes garnished with mini shrimps? You decide.]
Edit 2: Oh my god. I just looked it up, and it's not only a national chain but much, much worse than my sarcasm could ever convey.