Life in the Provinces

At the tender age of twenty three I made the bold decision to leave the great state of New York (and my family and friends) and leap into the unknown world of living in the West.  Prior to a three month tour of the country, in a big daddy Caddy, I had considered Pennsylvania to be the west.  As it turns out there's a whole shitload of country between Pennsylvania and the Pacific Ocean.  Not only is there lots of land, but there are cities, people and running water to boot.

Armed with a duffle bag filled with jeans, short shirts and sandals, eighty bucks and a one way ticket to Oakland, off I went.  If you've never been to California, I would heartily suggest that you don't make Oakland your starting point. My family was confounded.  Why would I want to leave New York to go live out there with a bunch of fruits and nuts?  This is not an uncommon lament for East Coast folks. I once spoke to a gal who works for a large credit card company and she told me that people on the East Coast are more likely to get their credit applications approved as they are very easy to find because they don't leave. If you can't find them, you can find someone in their family; across generations, East Coasters generally tend to stick around.

After living on a teacher's salary, for a number of years, in the glorious city of San Francisco I realized that I didn't always want to have three jobs and moved to Denver. I have been living here for the past twelve years and have come to terms with being an outsider.  I have learned a great many things about living out west and have made adjustments accordingly.  My Ohio bred husband often makes fun of my disbelief (and outrage in some cases) when it comes to my expectations and begs me to pardon everyone living outside of New York; apparently those residing in the provinces know not what they do.  My grievances and personal adjustments made accordingly fall into three major categories:  food, apparel and transportation.

FOOD

• GOOD bagels are hard to come by. Offerings of round, chewy pieces of bread with fruit infused flavorings (cranberry pumpkin???) are not bagels, they are some weird amalgamation of cake and possibly muffin.  While I would like to applaud people for their efforts and creativity, I can only shake my head and laugh.  If you are among the lucky and do happen upon a decent bagel shop, you will fork over nearly three dollars to get your onion bagel with butter fantasies fulfilled. I don't even want to talk about getting a hard roll or a bialy.
• Cold cuts (also known as lunch meat) are sliced as if you are going to use only one piece of meat and cheese to make an entire sandwich.  If you dare request that they are thinly sliced, you will be looked at like the suspect in a major homicide and will run the distinct possibility of having your lunch for the week being tainted by someone else's saliva.
• Pizza hut, Domino's, Little Cesars and all those other 'pizza' chains are not only actually considered pizza, but are actually preferred by many who have had the luxury of eating REAL pizza.  I have been fortunate enough to find a few (actually two) really good pizzerias (owned by actual New Yorkers), and realized the important lesson I had passed on when my son refused Domino's at a sleepover.
• Chopped meat is called one of three things: ground beef, hamburger - as if this is the only thing you make with it, and hamburg (for those who just can't bear to pronounce that last syllable).  I learned this the hard way when requesting one pound of chopped meat at a butcher.  They had no idea what I was talking about & quite frankly I didn't know another way to say it.  I wound up pointing to the meat in the case and pantomiming eating a hamburger.    
• Soda, I mean pop, I mean Coke.  Um, actually I mean soda, you know that stuff made from soda water with sugar and all kinds of crap you can't pronounce?  If I ask for a pop, assume either that I would like you to punch me in the face or I am asking after your grandfather.  And if I ask for a Coke, please do not ask me what kind.  Coke is brown soda and should not be confused with anything else unless we are hanging out with Charlie Sheen.

Apparel

• Even if you have never been within ten feet of a tennis court and/or tennis racket, sneakers are called tennis shoes and more annoyingly tennies.  The sheer lack of logic here goes unheeded and even in Spanish they are referred to as such.  I suppose I could handle them being called gym shoes, because most people have at least stepped foot into a gym, but despite my protests (and obvious superior knowledge of important matters like this), people insist on the name they know.
• Sandals with socks are allowed all over the place.  This hot mess of a combination is, remarkably, not reserved strictly for Eastern Europeans with gold teeth.  Anyone with a Birkenstock or a Teva finds it completely acceptable to throw on some bunchy socks and slip into these sandals, critics be damned.  This sock/sandal wearing phenomenon is not relegated to just one sex either - both male and females equally enjoy this fashion don't.  

Transportation

• People really, and I mean really love their cars.  So much so that I have met an impressive number of people who have never even ridden public transportation.  When I first started working in schools in Denver, I took the bus to work and after getting off the bus, I walked the few blocks to school. I once commented that I couldn't get over how poor a job people did with shoveling in front of their homes.  I was told that my problem was that I walked.  I have to admit, this was the first time I'd ever heard of walking as a problem and a possible detriment to my well being.
• Public transportation outside of New York actually runs on schedules.  Schedules that are kept.  And there are phone numbers that you can call to complain about a bus or train like conveyance that missed it's schedule or didn't show up.  What crazy, novel ideas.  Other than the fabric covered seating - I try my very best not to think about the thousands of filthy people that may have sat on them before me - public transportation outside of New York City was an adjustment that wasn't too hard to make.

This weeks tip:

Before consideration of moving out of your hometown, wherever that may be, do your homework.  I'm not talking about contacting the Chamber of Commerce for maps, or looking up housing or cost of living comparisons.  I am talking about finding a person who may have blazed that trail already.  Find out the names for things, where to get a decent meal, how much a beer costs and the time difference so you know exactly what time to call your mother crying about homesickness.