An Apology to Half of Seattle

The car I currently drive is an inherited one- inherited in the sense that when Salome and I married, she brought it into the nuptial relationship as a shared asset (see image of car here).

When the infamous snows of Seattle hit, we purchased a Honda CRV, and Salome's old car was designated as my main mode of transport. It was a wise move- and I'm by no means complaining- as my commute is significantly shorter than hers and I drive like an elegant figure skater when it comes to icy roads.

But still, it's an old Ford Escort, and it's not the most luxurious of drives.

The other day the battery light in the Escort went on. As the Escort has the following issues:

1) The brake light never goes off
2) The gear box is not lighted, so at night you have to guess what position 'reverse' is in: which has the potential for the creation of a great drinking game
3) The 'check oil' light is always on

I think I can be forgiven for thinking this new battery light was just another sign of the old girl showing her age. Who knew the car was actually trying to tell me something???

She made her final statement by dying at the intersection between a freeway off ramp and a major arterial street. On Friday afternoon, during the prime traffic hour.

And here's where the apology comes in. You see, for years I have taken a rather dim view of Seattle. I have hated its dim corridors that pass for 'streets', and the uppity denizens sipping coffee in Starbucks in front of their laptops. I have hated how one out of every 2 cars is an SUV, and how the small community churches have died off in favor the mega-churches. It has seemed that the only value Seattle had was 'big': whether it was a start-up company reaching up to become a giant (or big enough to capture Microsoft's attention and subsequently be bought out by them), or the egos of those who walk the city streets.

So, as I sat in my dead car, with the hazard lights blinking (nice: enough juice in the battery to let everyone know the car was dead, but not enough to get it started), it took less than 5 minutes of sitting before someone edged around my car and came to a stop. He offered assistance, tried to jump start it (no go), and then to help push it off to the side of the road (gear box was stuck in park, and wouldn't move into neutral). I thanked him, but there was nothing he could do.

I then called for a tow truck, which came interminably late, (just under an hour) but during that wait I had no less than 7 people stop and offer assistance. This, in a city that doesn't care- unless the yellow-spotted grout lizard is in danger of having to move 20 feet from its habitat because of some proposed road construction.

From the Hispanic man who pulled off to the side and offered a jump start and tinkered with the engine, to the Asian man who instructed me on what I'd need to do to get it running, to the delivery driver who, with a few of Hispanic co-workers, showed me how to get the car out of 'park', into 'neutral', and helped push me off the road, to the black man who pulled up behind me just to ask if I was alright. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the 20-something Latinos in their souped car and thumping bass- and whom I would probably dismiss as 'gang-bangers' or
'thugs' under other circumstances- who also stopped and offered assistance.

In fact, with the exception of the first gentleman who tried to give me a jump start, I never received offers of assistance from anyone who was Caucasian, and drove a Mercedes or some other luxury car.

And yes, the paragraph above about why I dislike Seattle so much is not one I'm going to retract: I think my earlier criticism still holds true. But my error- and thus my apology- is that there are some genuinely good people out there who defy typology and stereotypes, and are willing to stop and help someone in need.

These are the people that are the glue that hold this city together, and though none of you will be likely to read this blog, I just want to say yet again:

Thank you.