Addendum to OHSU: The search for a gas station or Does that say "Welcome to Washington?"
I believe I left the OHSU story prior to going to dinner with the residents at a microbrewery in downtown Portland. Able to muster what little element of "extrovert" remained deep in my soul, I climbed into the PT Cruiser and followed the directions to the restaurant. I would like to point out that trying to find the venue to meet the residents was a new experience, as everywhere else, the residents arranged to meet us applicants at a central location and then transport us together. After fighting the directions and then for parking, I am now a huge fan of the "we (residents) will take you" plan. Needless to say, several wrong turns due to unexpected construction later, I pull up to a curb and then fight with Portland's parking device. You put money into one machine that serves the entire curb. Based on the amount of time you buy, it prints off a validating sticker which you then must go back to your car, open the passenger side door and attach said sticker, facing out, to the passenger side window. Did this sound easy? Perhaps, but I assure you between reading the directions then checking out the cars around me to make sure I had the sticker in just the right place, it took about 10 minutes. But I made it to the restaurant and had an okay time. I was amused to see an applicant I had kinda met before at Utah. She had managed to put all her west coast stops together, but I did not envy her the driving she was clearing having to do in order to kill many birds with many tanks of gas. Ultimately, I can't really say too much about the residents. I liked them, they were willing to answer all of our questions and were obviously in love with the city, but I was underwhelmed. And a little angry when it turned out that the evening may have been happy hour but only if you didn't drink anything. I wasn't so happy that I had to pay for my beer. The program only picked up 3 lousy appetizers ordered by the residents with no input from the applicants. Fear not, I was only angry for a little while. I would later become flat out pissed off.
But first I did get back to the hotel and lounge for a while, slept in until a whopping 7:30 the next morning for an 8:30 departure to PDX (aiport code for Portland) for a 10:25 flight. I was deliberately trying to give myself a lot of time so I would not be rushed, could enjoy a leisurely breakfast at PDX and lope onto the plane with nary a care in the world. Ha.
Hurdle One: Gas. Into the powder-blue (which I now regret not photographing) PT Cruiser I go with my only intended stop a gas station to fill 'er up and not pay $8.00/gallon at the Thrifty place. The time: 8:35. I select a perfectly good exit complete with "gas/food/lodging" on the friendly blue informational sign and quickly come to one stoplight for 12 roads. Okay maybe 4. Not seeing an obvious gas station, I turn right and proceed on. After a good 500 feet, I become worried that the friendly sign has lied to me, and just as I am contemplating a U-ey, the ethereal lights of heaven shine upon a Shell station. The friendly attendant pumps my gas then gets stiffed by me and my lousy $1 tip (I was out of ones, okay), and it's back to PDX! Panic sets in after roughly 4 minutes when I can find only signs directing me to 84 west. I need east. I drive and drive and drive, recovering my tracks, hitting every light red at least twice, getting funny stares from the abodeless with an ever-increasing blood pressure. Somehow I finally get to the right multi-road stoplight and to the correct lane for 84 east, and it's off again. The time: 9:10. No sweat. It'll be closer than I liked, but the vision of coffee and a scone is still firmly in mind.
Hurdle Two: Return the PT Cruiser to its home. Most of you reading this have either returned your own rental car or at least seen the "Rental Car Return" instructions all over the place as you navigate an airport terminal. PDX hid theirs for longer than was pleasing, but I eventually find the signs and motor happily at their direction. Then panic returns when I read all of the signs for Avis, Dollar, Enterprise, Bob's Cars, Budget...no Thrifty. Anywhere. #$^!. The time: 9:30. I quickly (actually, rather impressively quickly considering I had reached the "just shove in random papers whereever they fit" stage of packing) find the paperwork I was given when I got my car (at the airport I might add!) including a list of XM stations my car does not have, and find that I am to return to the offsite location via exit 24-B. No sweat. I took 24-A to get to the airport, so any reasonable person would conclude that if I get back on 205-N from which I had come, the very next exit will be 24-B. Ha. I get on old 205-N and see nothing but cars and cement. No ramps. No exits. Then a river. A big river. The Columbia River. The border between Oregon and Washington. Son of a... Panic, my old friend, returns once more and begins to laugh as I am now in the wrong state with no quick turn-around in sight. The time: 9:40. I call my Mom, burst into tears and proceed to drive, desperate for an exit that will allow me to get off then immediately back on 205-S. I pick the first exit and cry a little harder when it turns out to be another highway with no more exits than 205-N had provided. Several moments later, I finally find a normal street exit and turn around. My parents are scrambling for the right directions as I head back across the river and begin to look for my savior 24-B. No such exit. The airport and my plane whiz by again, and I'm still stuck on 205-S in a car I want to get rid of more than my anatomy notes from my freshman year of medical school. Off I exit again, with my parents now looking for a phone number so I can call and beg for help, to try for a second chance at 205-N and the mythical 24-B. Bingo, I find it! I drive like a mad woman to the Thrifty store, hop out of the car, slamming doors and fuming because my formerly-full gas tank is clearly below the "F" which is a signal to all rental car companies to charge the full tank of gas and cackle at the extra revenue. The nice man asks about my satisfaction, blah blah blah. Resisting the urge to punch him for being so slow in checking out the car and giving me my receipt, I make it to the bus and finally to the terminal. The time: 10:00. I am blessed by no line checking my bag, move relatively swiftly through security and to my gate with an extra 30 seconds to spare. Okay, I could have had 5 minutes and 30 seconds to spare, but dammit all if I wasn't getting my bloody scone and cup of coffee. Whew. Again.
Thus endeth my stay in Portland. Rainy, grey, hater-of-logical exits Portland.
Bottom line: Nope. I am sure I would like the program and come to tolerate the city-ness of Portland eventually, but I don't want to have to "come to tolerate" where I will be living for at least the next three years. Plus there's no thunderstorms. And the cost-of-living is too high to offset my reservations about the weather and the city. Sorry Portland. I will be delighted to visit you at any point in the future to frolic on Mount Hood or the Columbia River Gorge or Canon beach, but I do not wish to live in/near/around you.
Talley: I now have 2 "don't think so" programs! Woohoo? So no to Denver and OHSU. Yale is slipping ever further away while Iowa and Utah remain strong!
Next up: I-N-D-I-A-N-A
But first I did get back to the hotel and lounge for a while, slept in until a whopping 7:30 the next morning for an 8:30 departure to PDX (aiport code for Portland) for a 10:25 flight. I was deliberately trying to give myself a lot of time so I would not be rushed, could enjoy a leisurely breakfast at PDX and lope onto the plane with nary a care in the world. Ha.
Hurdle One: Gas. Into the powder-blue (which I now regret not photographing) PT Cruiser I go with my only intended stop a gas station to fill 'er up and not pay $8.00/gallon at the Thrifty place. The time: 8:35. I select a perfectly good exit complete with "gas/food/lodging" on the friendly blue informational sign and quickly come to one stoplight for 12 roads. Okay maybe 4. Not seeing an obvious gas station, I turn right and proceed on. After a good 500 feet, I become worried that the friendly sign has lied to me, and just as I am contemplating a U-ey, the ethereal lights of heaven shine upon a Shell station. The friendly attendant pumps my gas then gets stiffed by me and my lousy $1 tip (I was out of ones, okay), and it's back to PDX! Panic sets in after roughly 4 minutes when I can find only signs directing me to 84 west. I need east. I drive and drive and drive, recovering my tracks, hitting every light red at least twice, getting funny stares from the abodeless with an ever-increasing blood pressure. Somehow I finally get to the right multi-road stoplight and to the correct lane for 84 east, and it's off again. The time: 9:10. No sweat. It'll be closer than I liked, but the vision of coffee and a scone is still firmly in mind.
Hurdle Two: Return the PT Cruiser to its home. Most of you reading this have either returned your own rental car or at least seen the "Rental Car Return" instructions all over the place as you navigate an airport terminal. PDX hid theirs for longer than was pleasing, but I eventually find the signs and motor happily at their direction. Then panic returns when I read all of the signs for Avis, Dollar, Enterprise, Bob's Cars, Budget...no Thrifty. Anywhere. #$^!. The time: 9:30. I quickly (actually, rather impressively quickly considering I had reached the "just shove in random papers whereever they fit" stage of packing) find the paperwork I was given when I got my car (at the airport I might add!) including a list of XM stations my car does not have, and find that I am to return to the offsite location via exit 24-B. No sweat. I took 24-A to get to the airport, so any reasonable person would conclude that if I get back on 205-N from which I had come, the very next exit will be 24-B. Ha. I get on old 205-N and see nothing but cars and cement. No ramps. No exits. Then a river. A big river. The Columbia River. The border between Oregon and Washington. Son of a... Panic, my old friend, returns once more and begins to laugh as I am now in the wrong state with no quick turn-around in sight. The time: 9:40. I call my Mom, burst into tears and proceed to drive, desperate for an exit that will allow me to get off then immediately back on 205-S. I pick the first exit and cry a little harder when it turns out to be another highway with no more exits than 205-N had provided. Several moments later, I finally find a normal street exit and turn around. My parents are scrambling for the right directions as I head back across the river and begin to look for my savior 24-B. No such exit. The airport and my plane whiz by again, and I'm still stuck on 205-S in a car I want to get rid of more than my anatomy notes from my freshman year of medical school. Off I exit again, with my parents now looking for a phone number so I can call and beg for help, to try for a second chance at 205-N and the mythical 24-B. Bingo, I find it! I drive like a mad woman to the Thrifty store, hop out of the car, slamming doors and fuming because my formerly-full gas tank is clearly below the "F" which is a signal to all rental car companies to charge the full tank of gas and cackle at the extra revenue. The nice man asks about my satisfaction, blah blah blah. Resisting the urge to punch him for being so slow in checking out the car and giving me my receipt, I make it to the bus and finally to the terminal. The time: 10:00. I am blessed by no line checking my bag, move relatively swiftly through security and to my gate with an extra 30 seconds to spare. Okay, I could have had 5 minutes and 30 seconds to spare, but dammit all if I wasn't getting my bloody scone and cup of coffee. Whew. Again.
Thus endeth my stay in Portland. Rainy, grey, hater-of-logical exits Portland.
Bottom line: Nope. I am sure I would like the program and come to tolerate the city-ness of Portland eventually, but I don't want to have to "come to tolerate" where I will be living for at least the next three years. Plus there's no thunderstorms. And the cost-of-living is too high to offset my reservations about the weather and the city. Sorry Portland. I will be delighted to visit you at any point in the future to frolic on Mount Hood or the Columbia River Gorge or Canon beach, but I do not wish to live in/near/around you.
Talley: I now have 2 "don't think so" programs! Woohoo? So no to Denver and OHSU. Yale is slipping ever further away while Iowa and Utah remain strong!
Next up: I-N-D-I-A-N-A