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| Not From Here |  |
Out-of-state license plates are a giveaway, of course, but we can spot the rentals, too. A few years back, they changed a lot of our four-way stops to traffic circles. We call them roundabouts because most of us are old enough to still appreciate the band Yes and we still look at the frequent lenticular clouds we get here and say, “Hey, that looks like a Yes album.” Really. We love our roundabouts because they have reduced traffic accidents to the few intoxicated drivers who, upon seeing a curve in the road, decide the shortest route is directly through. This might work but just about every roundabout we have here has either some kind of art sculpture involving heavy metals such as steel or iron that tend to not allow cars to pass through unheeded or some kind of landscaping that includes trees. Our trees are also a little slow in jumping out of the way of intoxicated drivers. A lot of people who are not from here and are even mostly sober have difficulty dealing with the concept of roundabouts. Some, when approaching the unfamiliar street design, slow down to a crawl, pull out a map or start to pound their GPS devices and turn to yell at their spouses and/or kids and threaten to stop the car. Some do come to a complete stop. Some, unable to fathom the idea of a circle, panic when they realize they have missed their exit, stop, put their car in reverse and back up. You will find us, the people who live here, sitting behind them in our cars, shaking our heads and gently sobbing because we are too polite to honk. Recently, thought, I came across the most glorious excuse for just about anything including drivers who can only go straight. This gift of freedom left me and my family so utterly delighted, we have tried our very best to use it at least once a day. When you I tell you what it is, you will just slap yourself silly when you recall all the times you could have used this and failed to do so. This most wondrous of alibis comes from my sister. She is a retired law enforcement officer and when she was still protecting and serving, she had to go to a training exercise out of town. With her that day was another cop from the force, and as they were trying to get from Point A to Point B, they became…I’m not sure what the correct technological police term should be used here but for us civilian-type persons the word would be: butt-lost. Even though they were currently in the left turn lane, they suddenly realized they had to turn right. So, signaling (natch) they slowly made their way across the intersection with my sister at the wheel. As the other automobiles in traffic froze in place with their drivers’ collective mouths agape, her partner hung most of his entire upper body out of the passenger window and waved in a reassuring, friendly, non-threatening, please-don’t-tell-my-supervisor-type way, yelling, “We’re not from here!” Now, isn’t that just too fabulous NOT to use? Like most Americans, I have moved more than once and no longer live near the place of my birth. Currently and for the last 13 years, I have been in Central Oregon. Therefore, there is no end to the things I can get away with here! I could wear a cowboy boot as a hat and when questioned, simply reply, “I’m not from here!” What’s even better is I frequently travel back to my hometown, San Diego. I haven’t lived there full-time since 1996 and consequently, I’m not from there, either! I can now mispronounce Spanish words, much to my daughter’s extreme embarrassment, I can pretend to be fascinated with indoor plumbing or I can stop and look up at the tall buildings and pull my best Gomer Pyle and announce to all within hearing distance, “Gollllllllleeeee!” I haven’t felt this free since I gave up high heels. There are those of you who do still live near or in your hometown and may feel a little left out because you can’t use this excuse. I sympathize, truly, but you do have something us clueless visitors do not. You have the gift of smug. You can look at us, with cowboy boots on our heads, and feel oh-so-superior while you kindly offer us incorrect directions and wait until we leave to laugh. It’s a win-win.
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