I love going back to old jobs that I have quit or been fired from. There is a certain satisfaction when you can return to a place where you voluntarily left, or were told to "piss off", and more often than not, were done wrong in the end (no unemployment, lost friends who were supposed to be your friends?, etc.).
It's like reconnecting with an ex after you have gone your separate ways and supposedly "moved on". The joy one feels from the "you left this and look at me now" resonates like the sun in a clear blue sky.
As I sit here perched in a stool at the window of the Stumptown Coffee off the ACE Hotel Lobby it all becomes clear why I left more than a year ago. Pretentious, fake, Holden Caulfields abound. Some on salary, some paid by the hour, most are patrons wanting to be "connected", or "associated" with the "cool", "hip", and the "new".
Before I get to some examples let me just say that there are no hard feelings. I would still have "ex sex" with several of mine (Tiffany you were amazing), so I feel no shame spending money in any establishment I have worked for previously.
Exhibit A: The woman who comes in alone. Young, twenty something "dressed up with nowhere to go". More than likely "dressed up with no one to go out with". One of those women who is waiting for her Brad Pitt looks, with Paul Allen money types to come and sweep her off her feet. A dreamer.
Exhibit B: Younger lady who is somewhere in the same age range as exhibit A, sans trust fund. She walks by with the longing eye stare of "I wish I had enough money to buy some coffee, but I spent it on smack". She's dressed with the times, but the clock has been bad to her and drugs have her number like she has her dealer's. Her face is aged by the meth, crack, cocaine, whatever? In the end, she's a real drug addict.
Exhibit C, D, E, and F: A group of horrifically dressed (think Meirer and Frank menswear section) 40, 50, 60 somethings milling about with cameras around their necks and crocks on their feet. The alpha male with a bluetooth in his ear seemingly talking to the group is actually carrying on another conversation with some other unseen B.O.D. (for the definition of a "B.O.D.) please see previous blogs). He finally ends his rude conversation and returns to leading the pack around like mules through the hotel lobby popping off random information about Portland and the hotel like he is some hired guide. The funny thing is that he has a room upstairs and has read a few brochures, maybe talked to a few of the staff at the desk, but is really up from the O.C. No, not Oregon City (locals), but Orange County, California. He is clearly a tourist.
Exhibits G, H, and I: 3 beautiful ladies rocking that NW style with tats, vintage dress, and minimal (if any) make up. They are all laughing and having a good time. Each one not concerned with any of the other bystanders opinions (no matter how I try to catch their gazes). Each comfortable in their own style and clearly here because they want coffee, not because they want to be "scene" (that's a pun for those of you who got a degree, but hated English and grammar). If I had to guess (or dare assume) they're all locals.
Exhibit J (well J 2 the C to be exact): He is I, and I am him. That being me, myself and I (you feelin' the De La Soul?). Mos Def I was a confused young male growing up trying to find an identity like everyone. I can recall running with the jocks because I played basketball and football (soccer), but also nerding out in the video tech room after class making movies and music videos. Without being too verbose (obvious oxymoron for a blogger), I've really begun "finding myself" and becoming OK with who I am.
No longer am I joining the military for my father, or going to private school or college for my mom. I am living my life and doing the things that make me happy. I have finally sold my SUV (had some good times in the Pathfinder, just ask Karen) thanks Gwen! I now ride an Eddy Merckx bike that literally flies and really is "the Ferrari of bikes" (thanks Dave from Poland, Maine). When I am not doing that I am on my Jeff Kendall, old school, Santa Cruz, skateboard. F@#$ Zummies and any other "mall" purveyor. While mainstream America appreciates you bringing skateboarding to the masses the rest of us enjoy supporting local spots like Cal's (not to be confused with Cal's Pharmacy), and Shrunken Head skate shop. Buy from people who actually skate posers.
Self assessment: I once was lost, but now I'm found. How about you?