Too easy? Yes.

A little trite? Sure

Apt? Most definitely.

Did I have a choice? Not one bit.

Anyway, to business.

First weekend in September, public holiday, who knew?

Most of America it would appear. Plenty of whom chose Seattle as their vacation destination.

Add to that the hoard of tech-wizards and kids emerging from their dark rooms and basements for their singular extracurricular excursions to the game convention (don’t worry they were both appeased and easily identifiable by their headphones, mobile gaming, ill fitting attire and low capacity for social interaction). Combined with the cities trendy folk attending the urban music festival (really, what is a music festival without a campsite) you could guess that lodging would be hard to come by.

You would be correct. We opted for a basic (not so basic in cost) inn a few miles East of Seattle proper, took a shuttle ride from the airport with Shuttle Express, whose driver was a proper character and a great welcome to the city. All in all though, amongst the throngs of sweaty kids with their bleeps and blips to the freshmen at the university doing their level best to woo the 17 year old girls(“really?! Thats like awesome you think I’m 20! I’m 17, she’s nearly 18 and these are just 16”) in hotpants and what looks like tip-ex face/body paint as they collectively head toward the aforementioned faux-festival and chatting about their first “rap” concert experience, the public transport system holds up well. And at 2 bucks 50 a pop one couldn’t complain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We met up with the sister in law, saw some of the city, we saw some sights (space needle), we followed the herd through the bright lights, big colours and bold smells of Pike Market (and sampled some delicious apple and blackberry cider, of the non alcoholic variety…zero wagons were fallen off of). Had some good coffee, saw a bunch of food trucks, we saw some mumbling dudes sitting in the square building cigarettes from filtered papers and pipe tobacco (I tried to ascertain exactly what was going on, whether it was indeed just tobacco or not, but the chap, I’ll call him Bubba, just mumbled and laughed and as I pushed further, mumbled and laughed some more, as Bubba was a big dude, I left it there and moseyed along. I have a feeling he had a sideline in some other products as the bags I saw some of his customers walking away with most definitely did not contain cigarettes), many beards and even the odd utilikilt (look it up if you have to).

The problem is, we’re not really city folk these days. For all the character and choices and art and wonder and Pike Markets and Bubba’s in the park, there is so much misery and stink and filthiness and sorrow.

The smell of human piss slaps you in the face like a great slimy kipper. And walking with my niece, having to explain when she asks “why are there tents under the bridge?” and “why is there a person in that sleeping bag, just lying across the pavement?” doesn’t sit well with me.

All these people doing so well, more often than not stepping over or deriding all these people who have nothing. When a person on the floor in the street is merely an obstacle to navigate I struggle a little inside.

There was a ray of hope, when at a distance we saw a herd of goats grazing a patch of brush in the city, but as you get there all hope is dashed as you see there is more litter and detritus in their pen than actual food. The people next to us, the lady says to the man “should we feed them something?” now I didn’t see them carrying any bags marked goatfood but the lady persists “I don’t see a sign saying we shouldn’t, so we can feed them anything, no?”

Now excuse me, but in what fucked up place do we need to think of a sign to tell us everything that we shouldn’t do? How the actual fuck does that work as logic?

Anyway, my point is that we needed to get out of the city.

We headed to the docks at Fishermen’s terminal.

I saw the Brenna A getting a refit (was even asked on board but I am pretty sure the guy who asked did not have the authority to do so, so for his job’s sake, declined) and the Time Bandit (I even think I saw Neal Hillstrand in the wheel house. Now, if none of that means anything to you, fair enough, if it does, you probably understand my geek joy at this point! We ate fried gerkins. Fucking delicious. Whoever thought that up was a genius.

Here we bumped into Rich. Moseying on his electric sit down scooter (chain driven*makes it dangerous and has that fun factor, do you know how many people are trying to work on the equation to figure out the fun factor…no…me neither, WHO CARES? Can’t account for the fun factor…Chain driven)

Rich is an oddball of the highest order. I think he knows it too. I like that about Rich.

Rich, assumed I was a fisherman, must be the beard, but I took it as an affirmation of my potent masculinity.

“Oh you quit your jobs to wander around the world? Ha ha…RIGHT ON!! That’s awesome! Are you educators? WHO CARES? You should be, I was and educator. SO FUCKING WHAT?”

Rich was a philosophy teacher. His results were too good. His students did too well. His bosses didn’t like it. He thought he might have to go to war with them.

“SO FUCKING WHAT?!”

Rich is a sailor, but he is only allowed in the lagoon he “took too many big risks”.

Rich is a “commando*. He is connected to “central”. They give orders, but he doesn’t follow them any more. They know who he is. He knows who they are. They leave each other be.

“WHO CARES?”

Rich is a musician. I asked him. He told me he was in a band called Tiger, he was the “violinist on guitar”. He was a real musician. That day he had even played “someone like you” all the way through. It might have been good, it might not he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know how to play it and doesn’t really know the song but he thinks he played it, but “SO FUCKING WHAT? WHO CARES?”

He says “SO FUCKING WHAT?” and “WHO CARES?” an awful lot. He says these things are part of his thing. He asks if I know what he means, or if we understand.

Frankly the answer was invariably no, but his response was always pretty predictable…

So fucking what? Who cares?

Not me Rich, I don’t care, I salute you, Sir.