More from the NEPIW

Here's another tale from the NEPIW (northeastern post-industrial wasteland):

In the month before I moved from the NEPIW, I lived at a friend's apartment while I packed and cleaned mine. One day, I went by my apartment to check the mail. I met up with the crazy landlord. My landlord had enlisted me as his confidante almost as soon as I'd moved into the building. The fact that I didn't cause problems and didn't question his unapologetic politically incorrect comments made him believe that I was "just like him" - a characterization that still makes me cringe. I realize that I should have revealed my liberal stripes and confronted his politically incorrect statements. I know I should have. But I was selfish. I wanted to hear just how outlandish his comments would become. He didn't disappoint.

He was cleaning Smokey Smokerson's apartment - and I got to hear all about it, whether I wanted to or not. While she lived in the non-smoking building, Smokey smoked. She smoked enough that the smoke penetrated through walls and multiple floors to reach my 3rd floor apartment. Rather than move to a building where she could smoke freely, Smokey tried to contain the smoke in her apartment by sealing off her front door. I'm not sure what Smokey's lung x-rays looked like, but I'm guessing there was a lot of smoke on them. Smokey finally moved out of the non-smoking building but not before she yellow-ed up her entire apartment. I know because I heard all about it.

Desperate to change the subject before my landlord shared more inappropriately intimate details about Smokey and her apartment, I mentioned that I broke a few pipes at my friend's apartment over the weekend. Long story. The short version is that I'm an idiot and hit the garage wall as I backed out with my driver's side door open. I'd relate the longer story, but it involves an iPod, FM transmitter, and lots of humidity - and all those details only take us further away from the upcoming punchline. My friend's landlord was very good about fixing the damage, keeping a sense of humor throughout the whole ordeal. When I finished telling this story to my landlord, he replied, "Gee, he sounds like a really nice guy. Is he Chinese?"

I stared at him for a moment, blindsided, hoping he'd explain this seeming non-sequitor. When he stared back at me, honestly waiting for an answer, I learned more about the workings of my landlord's brain than I ever wanted to know. As he worked night and day to shore up the faltering walls around his carefully constructed corner of the world, it seems that somehow "Chinese" people became "really nice." I'm not sure why I responded at all, but I said, "No, my friend's landlord is from here." I could see the wheels spinning as my landlord tried to process this information. Someone who wasn't Chinese was willing to complete a distasteful task and remained cheerful throughout. I think he's still trying to process this information.

This is why racism is so tricky. You have to be willing to throw all logic out the window, because the person you're confronting is way ahead of you on that score. But, without logic, how do you make an argument? And what would my counterargument be? That Chinese people aren't nice? That people from the NEPIW are nice, just like Chinese people? And then there's the characterization itself. I think my landlord believed that he was complimenting Chinese people, because he said they were "nice." But, seemingly positive characterizations can still be problemmatic, particularly when paired with a distasteful task like fixing a sewage pipe. In the end, I made some lame excuse and walked away.

NEPIW Reflections

Yesterday, I survived my second yoga class without incident. Since nothing blog-worthy came from this outing, I thought I'd reprise an account of President's Day in the northeastern post-industrial wasteland (NEPIW). I should preface this entry by saying that things happen in the NEPIW that don't happen anywhere else (a thought I've always found comforting). In my five years there, I honed an "eyes forward at all times" approach; but, there were times when the downright weirdness of the place seeped through. The following is one of those times:

This morning, I had a plan to celebrate President's Day. I was going to chop down a cherry tree, free some slaves, start a bunch of government agencies with 3-4 letter acronyms that don't spell actual words, tape all of my conversations, have an affair with an intern, then, to round out a busy day, I was going to invade an unsuspecting country. Well, time got away from me and I didn't get to any of these things. But, there's always next year.

Yesterday, I made my weekly trip to the grocery store and left wondering why I can't just manufacture my own food at home. All the way through the store, I trailed along behind this really annoying middle-aged couple. They plodded along, pushing one of those enormous carts. I'd work my way around them, then turn the next aisle and there they'd be, in front of me again. I started to think they were aliens who could teleport, sent to annoy earthlings in grocery stores.

The final straw was when I turned down the last aisle and they were throwing a roll of paper towels back and forth down the aisle. I'm not making this up. He was at one end, and she at the other, and they were tossing a roll of paper towels like a football back and forth. I almost shouted, "What the hell is the matter with you people?!! I have been locked up in my apartment non-stop for 5 days, trying to articulate some sort of meaningful argument for my dissertation and do you see me throwing paper towels in the grocery store? No. No, you don't."

I finally extracted myself from this couple of freaks, after following them through the frozen food section. I got in line behind a woman who was wearing a winter coat, a spring/summer skirt and sandals. Open-toed, full-on, sandals! She didn't even have pantyhose on. It was snowing outside. Snow = cold. The woman was buying a bunch of organic food - you know, no preservatives, no additives, no taste. I proudly put my meat, frozen processed food, cookies, and 10% real juice on the belt behind her "food."

As she purchased her food, she felt the need to narrate her every move - "I'm swiping my Wegmans card..I'm swiping my credit card, I'm paying with credit!" Again, I wanted to explain that although I'd been cooped up without human contact for 5 days, I was appropriately attired with real shoes and socks on. But, what do I know. Maybe eating organic food makes your feet really hot.

Stay tuned for more tales of "Crazy, Potential Aliens in the NEPIW."