Average For Me

If nothing else, my time in Cleveland has been an education in my insulation. I feel like I run with a pretty dissimilar crowd. We have singles, married folks, gays, straights, regular church goers and professed atheists. We have dog lovers and cat lovers, foodies and those of us who like to eat, but can’t really cook. We span a couple of generations in age and hit all kinds of income levels. While there isn’t really any racial diversity (save a half Mexican who doesn’t speak Spanish), we don’t necessarily feel like a homogenous group.

However, after spending 2 weeks with people from all across the country, I’ve learned that we’re all insulated snobs. My apologies to my friends if you weren’t aware. It just turns out that the truths that we hold to be self-evident are actually not the general suppositions of what I now understand to be the “average American”. I suppose somewhere while we were laughing at Sarah Palin and listening to public radio, the rest of the country was sucking down Cheez-Whiz and putzing around on YouTube.

Don’t get me wrong, for as snotty as some of what I might say sounds, it isn’t that I’m being judgmental. If the food at Olive Garden doesn’t taste like microwaved freezer burn to you, then more power to you. But I want to ask my fellow Cleveland travelers why in Chef Boyardee’s name would you opt for that, when there’s a whole district called Little Fuckin’ Italy? (The addition of “Fuckin’” being my own). And for what it’s worth, a meal can be had in both places for roughly the same price.

I’m also learning that for as much as I feel like these people are traveling around in a fog and missing out on the good things in life, it’s really more of my own lack of recognition that my own day to day life isn’t how most people live. My co-workers have decided that they want to go to a sports bar/pool hall for dinner tonight. Their plan is to consume cheap, light domestic beer out of a bottle or can and watch “the game”. I have no idea what game there is to watch and I feel further removed from these people by the fact that they all seem to know exactly what sporting event is being referenced. Alternatively, I plan to go to a cocktail bar I’ve been eyeing and trying a drink with some flavors I’ve never had before.

Contrary to what you might think, it isn’t an issue of money spent. I plan to have one drink. That, with tip, might barely break $10. I’m sure they’ll all at least hit $15, even if it’s happy hour. I also recognize that they would feel as out of place in my surroundings as I’d feel in theirs. However, my lack of interest in their outing has me labeled as “anti-social” and “snotty” and while I tend to reject that, I wonder if there isn’t some truth to it. I’d certainly feel more at home by myself thinking about the flavors swilling around in my rocks glass than figuring out if I should hold a pool cue like a majorette’s baton or more like I’m jerking someone off.

Or maybe the single activity is less an indicator as their quantity of beer consumption versus my single drink gets more to the point. It really may come down to appreciating quality over quantity. Someone here was horrified when I said I hated the food at The Cheesecake Factory. (Same deal, it all tastes like cardboard freezer burn). My outstanding memory there is that food comes in huge portions with a giant menu and none of it comes out very tasty. The more is more thesis also holds for the way they watch TV, drive their cars, and select their McMansion. The more they can consume, the better they feel the experience is. And while, I don’t judge them for the way they think, I really want to teach them how much better their general life experience can be.

However, I don’t assume that people will take well to me telling them their beer tastes like badly flavored water and that their houses are obnoxious. I’m sure I’d get the same look as when I’ve tried to teach them that you don’t need to say “number” after saying “VIN”. So, I’ll let them go their way and I’ll go mine. I’ll go to the bar and ask questions about how my drink is made while they go ask why “the game” isn’t on the TV by their pool table. They’ll continue to think I’m being judgey, while I feel like a citizen on the Island of Misfit Toys. But if nothing else, I might pay attention to how I grip the martini glass this evening so as not to send any signals to the guy at the other end of the bar.