2/14/13
If life is a playground, Portland is a virtually bully-free playground; it is a land where nerds like me can romp free in fields of fantasy novels and climbing gyms. People say it’s where the young retire but I beg to differ, it’s more like where the recently adult reenact childhood with facial hair, piercings, and hopefully the occasional paycheck.
Here there are many childish urges nerds get to fulfill because society’s grown-up rules don’t really apply. If you find a goofy hat that only looks cool to you, you can where the hell outta that hat, worst-case scenario someone compliments you on said headwear. No judgments passed.
Portland is a safe place to get in touch with your inner weirdo. It’s like always being at the costume party you never worried about getting too dressed up for.
Sometimes it’s so comfortable navigating in the pajama-clad flats of Portland that one can forget when they exit the snoozy environment. On one such occasion I had been swagging around Northeast with a pair of vibrant orange psychedelic Bolivian sweatpants for a week, at the end of which I drove to Spokane. On the drive I planned to make good time by audaciously traveling 13 mph over the speed limit.
Apparently some police officers find this to be an affront to their profession. 55 miles down highway 395 I was pulled over by Officer Thorson. The icy adrenaline of a guilty traffic offence surged through my nerdy veins when red and blue blinded the rearview.
Thinking of abundant fishing money and traffic karma, I calmed myself by the time Officer Thorson was at the passenger window. “Hey, how are ya?” I asked in earnest, he replied with a compulsory request for my DMV accolades, then asked that I speak with him outside the car.
As I sauntered into view of the squad car’s Sauron spotlight, I realized that the dreamy style rules of Portland didn’t permeate borders. My stereotypical hippie threads billowed cheerfully in the breeze like a puppy’s tale slapping the wall of a property that doesn’t allow dogs. All previously carefree feelings disappeared.
“Where ya headed?” he asked warily as his policed eyeballs scanned my duds and made one judgment after the other. “Well my buddy and I are Gonzaga alumni and we’re going to Spokane for the weekend” I admitted sheepishly. Thorson’s authoritative demeanor turned to a grin.
After that good ole’ Thorsy and I were the best of friends. He immediately started asking about the Zags next game and how I liked going there. The conversation never actually got to speeding or traffic laws, he just told me to get back in the car when he noticed I was cold. We even shared a laugh about my righteous rags. Minutes later he returned to the car with a written warning and a smile.
The Zags are a well-known team in the Pacific Northwest and it helps to be able to reference their legendary stats when an authority figure ventures the topic; there are even pointers sent out to alumni for such situations. This wasn’t the first time the Zags saved me a pricey speeding ticket, and they’re primed to do so much more for alumni everywhere by being an inspiring basketball team. Support them by watching and cheering on tonight against St. Fairys.
Stay comfy my friends, and above all, go Zags.
