Yesterday was an exciting day for yours truly. It’s a day I had been eagerly awaiting for months.
Yesterday, Pike Grocery finally opened its doors, and as soon as my ferry docked, I beat a hasty path to its doors. What I found left me quite pleased.
A grocery, a convenience store, a deli, oh my.
Beer, wine, salty snacks, milk, produce … Pike Grocery has everything an aging hipster could possibly want, and then some … such as 3, count ‘em, three different types of creme soda. It’s nirvana for the perpetually-21, prolonged adolescence population of the neighborhood. For instance, I didn’t see any diapers or baby food, but you can beat your sweet ass that Pike Grocery carries pet supplies. You know, for the 35 year old girl upstairs who, without a hint of sarcasm, says “Yes, I do have kids, a golden retriever and a beagle”.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking … “Jesus, Rex, it’s a grocery store, how lame must your life be to get excited about such a thing?” … but you just do not understand. Those of you with automobiles never will. This includes 90% of my neighbors.
You see, Seattle is a large city populated almost exclusively by non-city people. White, suburban, college graduates living out their big city fantasies while maintaining the safety net that is dual parking spaces. People who only live in Belltown because they can get to the elevators from the parking garage, thereby avoiding contact with scary negroes and other urban inhabitants on the sidewalks above. Folks who rent studios in Pike/Pine to escape their unglamorous pasts, knowing that Kirkland is just an 18 minute freeway drive away if things ever get a little too real.
I know, I know, there Rex goes again, the elitist scumbag that he is. He generalizes and knows nothing of the lives of his fellow residents.
Ah, but I do, kemosabe.
So far this year, the first ten months of 2012, the fire alarm in my building has gone off 40 times. Forty times. FORTY TIMES. I am not exaggerating. I had once had three in one day! In New York City and Washington DC combined, I can remember one (1) time when I had to evacuate due to a false firm alarm.
So far, in just the last two years in Seattle, I’m closing in on damn-near 100 false alarms. That, my friends, is the very definition of the word “asinine”. It’s gotten so bad, that I now treat the fire alarm like a car alarm. When it goes off, I don’t rush out of the building, I don’t get dressed, I don’t stop masturbating. I just cover one of my ears until the alarm stops. Never in all of my years on God’s Green Earth have I seen anything like it, but when you think about it, it’s not surprising.
You see, by the age of 14, most, if not all city-dwellers have honed their urban-living skills. They understand how to reasonably co-exist in dense-urban environments.
For most of my neighbors, the complete opposite is true. People who were raised in suburban houses don’t realize that when you burn the meatloaf, 300 homes must be evacuated. These people, they don’t understand. They get on the elevator at the 12th floor during morning rush hour, and press ’10’. Why not, right? What’s two extra stops for people rushing to make a ferry? Why expend 12 seconds of manual labor to walk down two flights of steps, when the other people should have left their homes earlier? It’s all their fault for being in a hurry. A hurry … how rude!
Or how about this, the elevator is full, but chivalry guy spots a woman scanning her card at the front door at the end of the lobby. Just as the elevator door is about to close, he sticks his hand out, preventing the door from shutting. Then, I stand there for the next 20 seconds, staring at the guy with incredulity, as the woman sashays across the lobby.
Well hell, Chivalry Guy, fuck me, right? Feel free to delay me for your own self-indulgent faux-courtesy. I have nowhere to be. By all means, hold me up for the convenience of someone straggling in. That doesn’t negate the whole “courtesy” charade at all. She’s really going to fuck you now, Don Juan. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dropped to her knees and sucked your dick on the ride up. You polite slab of man meat, you.
Or … “Oh sorry, this elevator is full … of my dogs. I’m afraid you and your family are just going to have to wait for the next one. My pets need to go shit on the sidewalk. If someone sees it, I’ll clean it up, otherwise, watch where you step. What kind of person raises a family in the city anyway? Four large canines make much more sense. I’m a real parent you know. These are my baaaaay beeeeees!”
Or, my personal favorite “I have dogs, because I like them so much better than humans!”
Oh really? Really? Re-he-he-eeeely? Then why in the fuck did you fucking move to a fucking city … a place which, by definition, is full of FUCKING PEOPLE, you fucking autistic asstard?
Or, how about this … notice on bulletin board: Need a parking space to rent! The two assigned to me aren’t enough. I moved to the inner-city because it seemed like a logical choice for someone with 8 vehicles. Please, don’t make me walk. Please. Why, just yesterday, I looked out my 15th-floor window and spotted a light-skinned negro on the street below, or maybe he was Hispanic, or possibly Chinese … well, I’m not sure what he was, but he wasn’t white, I’ll tell you that much!!!! Please, help me find a place to park my Sherman Tank, I mean SUV … my friends think I’m cool for living here, but egads man, I shouldn’t have to die for my image. Haven’t I suffered enough, dawg?
If you think it’s bad now, my fellow Seattleites, just wait til the Bauhaus block gets torn down and replaced with Poser Pads, complete with ample parking. We’re about to go from bad to worse in no time flat. At least with the opening of Pike Grocery, the poser bags will have another place to buy beer. Beer. “The stuff we drank every day in college while watching kitchy 80’s movies.” Yay.
For these people, a new corner grocery store is a curiosity. A perk. A novelty. Kind of like daddy’s sports car that he lets them drive every now and then.
For the rest of the residents, those that have lived in large cities all of their lives, the few, the proud, the five percenters … a corner grocery is life changing. It’s quite possibly the biggest urban quality-of-life issue there is. For inner-city pedestrians, a corner store is our lifeline. Our placenta. The corner grocery is the difference between having and have notting. It helps answer the question “It’s 27 degrees outside … do I really need the sandwich? The donut? The beef jerky?”
Well, amigos, now that Pike Grocery has arrived, the answer to the question above, all of the questions above, shall be answered with a resounding “Fuck yes!”.
Pike Grocery, welcome to the neighborhood.
Now please, please, oh sweet mother of God PLEASE … don’t piss me off.