Knit Sisters

I’ve realized why I like Denver so much: everyone here behaves exactly like they do in the Midwest. It feels like home. Except with a lot more spectacular landscape. (Sorry, Missouri. You’re beautiful too, but it’s hard to compete toe-to-toe with the Rockies.)

Example: I’m at Starbucks yesterday morning and this guy orders a grande half caf/half decaf vanilla latte with soy milk. The usual complicated early 21st-century American coffee order.

As an aside, I sometimes wonder if we were better off when we just had the choice between the stuff that came in the brown carafe and the stuff that came in the orange carafe. You know what I’m talking about here.

But you had choices even then. Sugar or saccharine.

Or, if you cared to, you could add half and half from those small white plastic containers with the rip-off paper tops. The tops that said, “Needs no chill,” right there bold as day. Proudly pronouncing their close and profitable relationship with homogenization and sodium citrate. And everyone was happy and life was simple.

Except that they weren’t and it wasn’t. So now we have complex coffee. Back to my story…

The man gets his complex coffee, he takes one sip, and he says to the barista, “You know, I hate to say this, but this just doesn’t taste right.”

The barista checks the order, then says, “No worries, I’ll make you another one.”

Then the guy says—and this is what makes me feel all warm inside—“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a trouble causer.”

He doesn’t want to be a trouble causer. Isn’t that lovely?

Here’s a man who has obviously understood the basic tenets of Midwestern psychology and world view: you aren’t entitled to anything, you should be grateful for what you get even if it isn’t quite what you wanted, and if you put others to additional trouble you should acknowledge that you are a “trouble causer.”

As Garrison Keillor once said, “Life is what you make it. Make the best of it.”

You may remember that I lived in New York City for 7+ years and that I loved and still do love NYC. But I must say that no one in NYC would ever say to a barista, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a trouble causer.” (Unless he was visiting from Iowa.)

They don’t mind being trouble causers on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. And much though I love the city and I carry it in my heart everywhere and every day, I never really got used to that. I never ceased to be shocked by the average New Yorker’s willingness to be a trouble causer.

None of that here in Denver.

You may have noticed by now that there are very few pictures in this post. That’s because I’ve been spending almost all my time at the Denver Federal Center, home of our National Archive’s Rocky Mountain Regional Office and an array of other federal agencies, among them heavy hitters like Federal Homeland Security.

As you go into the Federal Center, which could be more accurately called an armed camp a “compound,” there is a large sign that says, “Visitors Welcome!”

And this is so true. The feds welcome you with open arms by eyeing you suspiciously, photocopying your government issued I.D., searching under the hood and in the trunk of your car for contraband, and running a mirror underneath your vehicle to look for suspended ordnance.

I don’t know about you, but that kind of special treatment certainly makes me feel like an honored guest!

So I have extrapolated from the behaviors of the Federal Welcome Wagon that it might not be the best idea to take photographs of the federal buildings. Photography of that sort could easily be classed as “suspicious behavior.”

When push comes to shove, I just don’t think they’re gonna buy my story about a so-called “knitting blog” and the need for exciting visuals. And I gotta tell you, I don’t want to cross these federal agents.

Because you know and I know where they are going to search next. And I do not mean my backpack.

Besides, I think that one guy on the morning shift already suspects that I am one of the key authors of the notorious terrorist plot: “Operation Addi Turbo.” (See here if you missed the details.)

Icarus, for his part, is refusing to be photographed until he is, “given a pair of loaded dice and put on a plane back to Vegas.” Unbelievable. I had to sneak up on him while he was sleeping in his bag:

The flash woke him up, but the howling and bitching was muffled by the heavy gauge plastic.

I’m actually quite ready to go back home, even though I’ve had a wonderful time on the road and my research has been extremely productive. For one thing, I’m sick of eating this paltry combination

for lunch because I’m trapped at the archive where there’s no food source within miles and I have no kitchen in which to produce a real bag lunch.

I never thought I’d say it, but I can’t wait to start doing my own cooking again.

I can hear your collective gasp echoing off the Rockies.

It’s also just a tad bit lonely at the hotel in the evening:

Note absence of men, dogs, and all other carbon-based life forms. I’d even welcome a charmless cat at this stage.

Besides, when you are on the road, you constantly have to demand service of various kinds. You have to bug people for directions, you have to order complex coffees, you have to request special itemized receipts, you have to impose yourself and your semi-suspicious vehicle upon federal agents who don’t want you around, and so on and so forth.

By the strict Midwestern definition, you have to be a trouble causer. In spite of all the places I’ve lived and everywhere I’ve wandered, at the end of the day, I’m still a Midwesterner.

And there’s nothing I hate more than being a trouble causer.

Next week, from Boston…

This entry was posted on Friday, August 25th, 2006 at 9:19 am and is filed under It's the process. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.