My landlord is a little sketchy, but I'm not complaining. I'm a little sketchy myself.
His thing is, he doesn't take checks or money orders — cash only — so once monthly, I ride a bus to my credit union to withdraw the rent in greenbacks, plus a month of walking around money.
Being the opposite of a responsible adult, I have never balanced a checkbook, and when I retired a few months ago, I wasn't sure I'd have much money for walking around. This morning, though, was my third visit to the credit union since retiring, third time checking the balance on my receipt as I walked out, and my life's bottom line continues to be OK. It's actually a bit more than a month ago.
Maybe, just maybe I can afford to sign up for Medicare when the government's ridiculous rules allow it — end of the year, I think.
On the next bus northbound, a transvestite's boombox was softly playing Abba, so "Waterloo" wormed its way into my head.
No worry, though. Who doesn't like Abba? I bopped my head from side to side with the lyrics, which despite having heard the song thousands of times, I don't know at all. All I know is, "Waterloo, bippity boppity boppy doo."
From the credit union, my destination was downtown, to visit Ye Old Curiosity Shop, a semi-trashy but totally cool tourist trap that's been in business since 1899.
I've been a loyal customer all my life. Before running away from home in 1991, I used to visit Ye Olde every couple of years just to soak up the weirdness. Even while I was gone from Seattle, I went to their website and ordered a small alligator's head, which became the candy dish on my desk at work. Its teeth were still sharp, so some of my co-workers were hesitant about taking candy from an alligator's jaws, but — oh, well. More candy for me.
Now that I'm back in Seattle, I'll be visiting Ye Olde every few years again, but first, a decision. It wasn't my plan, hadn't occurred to me at all, honest, but the #C bus would take me past my favorite diner, Mrs Rigby's.
Hmmm... I could stop at Mrs Rigby's for a late breakfast... but, Ye Olde is nearly next door to Ivar's Fish Bar on the waterfront, and Ivar's fish'n'chips would be a marvelous early lunch. I pondered it deeply, and decided today's extravagance would be Mrs Rigby's, not Ivar's.
Dinging the bell, I stepped off, walked into Mrs Rigby's, and took a booth near the back. At a table near me, several old ladies had finished their breakfasts, and three out of four were walking away, but the last lady made eye contact with me. I was still singing "Waterloo," not loud enough to be a major annoyance, but loud enough that she stared at me for a moment.
She echoed back, "Good morning, Waterloo!" and sang a line of "bippity boppity boppy doo" with me. Then she said, "Can I show you what's so good about my morning?"
"Show me!" I said, jovially, but cautiously. Like, was she about to flash me her tits?
She came over, pushed a few buttons on her phone, and showed me a picture of a pretty girl about ten years of age. "That's my great-granddaughter!" she said.
Now, I should 'splain, I was an office worker all my life, and most office workers are women, and a lot of women working in offices are old, so I knew exactly the proper response. "The kid's adorable," said I, "but she can't possibly be your great-granddaughter! You look about 40."
Actually the woman looked at least 60, but like I said, I have serious experience with old ladies showing me photos of the grandkids. This might've been the first great-grandkid any old lady has shown me, but the same rules apply.
She took her fake compliment well, walked away smiling and giggling, and soon the waitress came, bringing coffee and taking my order.
I read a short chapter in a novel before my omelet came. Pretty good novel, by the way. I'll tell you about it when I've finished.
Never yet have I seen an employee at Mrs Rigby's drop a plate, but my waitress slightly stumbled on the carpet and came close. "Almost dropped your breakfast!" she said, unnecessarily. It's my food, so I'd been watching.
Still in un-Doug-like fine spirits, I said, "If you'd dropped it, you could sweep it up and serve it to me and I wouldn't complain. Whatever it picked up from the floor would only add to the magic of Mrs Rigby's." Yeah, my mood was so chipper I would've punched me if I was anyone else.
She laughed, and then left me alone to read more of the book, interrupting only to bring coffee refills.
When I'd paid and tipped and walked out, my bus came immediately — and indeed, all day I had great bus luck. Every time I walked to a bus stop, my bus was coming, and every time I transferred from one bus to another, it was just a matter of moments and a few footsteps.
Bus luck is like Seattle's weather; you never know whether it'll be good or horrendous, but today the weather was sunny and 65° and the bus luck was fairy-tale.
On this northbound #C bus, I sat about 2/3 of the way back, very much enjoying the view of an overweight black man in a wheelchair toward the front. He was facing backwards, eating a fast-food breakfast, and chewing with his mouth open wider than Anna Nicole Smith. Eggs, bread, cheese, I saw it all, and marveled at his ability to eat and eat and eat, while closing his mouth only split seconds at a time.
Our bus zoomed over the West Seattle Bridge, and then touched down at the waterfront, where I rang the bell and stepped off for the brief walk to Pier 54. And the walk surprised me.
The viaduct was torn down a few years ago, and the freeway was moved inside a new tunnel, but still, rubble and construction remains. They're rebuilding the waterfront as a park, to be cleverly called Waterfront Park, and it's going to be swell when it's finished but it's a slow, slow process.
As recently as spring of this year, last time I'd been to the waterfront, the freeway's absence was an improvement, but the area was still unpleasant, filled with construction barriers, earth-movers, cranes, safety cones, hard-hatted workers, etc.
Well, the hard-hatters are still there, and everything's still loud and sprinkled with safety cones, but there's been progress. The pedestrian areas are much wider, with newly-laid walkways, and planters that have plants, and new wooden benches that aren't even bum-proofed!
Most surprising, there are oversized swing-sets on the sidewalk, where you'll be able to sit and swing and look out at the ships and ferries on the water. The swings aren't open for swingers yet, but I reached across some do-not-cross ribbons and nudged a swing, and guess what? It swung!
When the park is finished, I will definitely return to swing. Our waterfront is going to be fantabulous. There's even going to be a walkway from Puget Sound up the hill to Pike Place Market.
Near as I can tell after dozens of visits, all that aforementioned stuff is for display, not for sale, and it's the same stuff as 50 years ago, so I don't pay it much mind. Instead I walked in like I do every few years, looking for whatever's weird or cool but affordable.
I walked out a little poorer, financially, but richer in ways that matter. Bought a bag of magnets ($7.99 for about two dozen), and a bag of the same hard-to-find candy that my grandma gave us kids every Christmas. As always, it was an enjoyable visit, recommended equally for out-of-towners or locals.
On my way out, still humming "Waterloo, bippity boppity boppy doo," I noticed another branch of a tiresome local hamburger chain, Great State Burger. Never eaten at any of their half-dozen locations, but I can write the bad review anyway. The name is dumb — what state isn't great, to the people who live there? And everything about the place says 'snooty' to me.
Add this to my confirmation bias: Great State has a sign posted permanently that says, "No public restrooms," and directs people to the ferry terminal, a long block's walk away. What if I want to wash my hands before eating one of your greasy burgers, or after? What if I'm an old guy who occasionally needs, really needs, a men's room? You're telling me to screw off, so I'm telling you: Great State can kiss my pimply puckered-up backside.
Worth noting: Ivar's fish bar is entirely an outdoor operation, but there's a big sign at the cash register, that says: "Restrooms," with an arrow pointing inside, to their restrooms.
That arrow is a key difference between a local business worth supporting, and one that isn't. Ivar's understands that its customers need to pee and poop and wash their hands. Great State doesn't give a damn.
Yes, I tinkled, and then walked a few blocks to my bus stop home, where my day of fairy-tale bus luck continued: the #99 bus runs only twice hourly, but it came for me immediately. And all the way home I sang to myself, "Waterloo, bippity boppity boppy doo."
9/30/2024
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