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I've been in Marin
Jan. 20th, 2004 08:56 amWeird. That’s how it always is when I return to Marin. In the 18 years since I’ve lived there full time, I’ve lost my ability to blend and sometimes even communicate with my people.
Of course, it’s even weirder when I’m only there to pick up a friend from high school to go to another high school friend’s grave. We stopped to pick up flowers because it, well, just seemed like the thing one does when visiting a cemetery. The florist shop we saw from the car in downtown Fairfax was closed so we walked across the street to the independent natural food store to see if they sold flowers.
It was a store not unlike the one I work at, although about half the size. I saw someone sweeping up in the bulk section. He was a hippieish white guy in his early 20s. "Do you sell flowers?" I asked
He gave me a why-do-I-have-to-deal-with-morons look and walked me over a couple of feet. "Yeah, we’ve got all kinds of flours," pointing out the white flour, wheat flour, oat flour, etc.
"No, no , no, I mean like flowers that grow in the ground, with petals and stuff." I’ll admit my communication wasn’t at its best either. He mumbled something that I took to be "I’ll go check" but obviously wasn’t since he never returned. I saw another worker cutting cheese in the aisle on a small table.* Even more my people I figured: a Marin, health-food working cheese cutter. A request for a florist was greeting with a frighteningly blank look. Not for lack of knowledge, she told us to go across the street, but in that everything-is-a-complicated-existential-question-that-I’m-working-on-bettering-myself-spiritually-so-I-can-comprehend way.** Then she just started looking over my shoulder at nothing I could see.
ComicBookGirl and I left. I felt displaced and odd. I couldn’t tell if I was somehow alienating these people or if I had just forgotten how to talk to them. Was it our non-hippieness? Did we talk too fast? Are we too urban now? We had to pass a café on the way to the car. Many people spilled out of it as well as a number of golden retrievers with neckerchiefs. I was searching for adjectives to describe them later and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anarqueso suggested smug. That’s part of it. Self-satisfied is another. How can I describe growing up in Marin other than when I (and my dead friend Rachael) were getting into No Business As Usual in order to "prevent World War 3 no matter what it takes!", people my parents age, though not my parents, were joining a group called "Beyond War".
There’s some truth in advertising to that, actually. Not much affects you in Marin. I honestly could not hold back. As we passed the crowd at the café, I said very loudly "I’m so glad I don’t live in Marin anymore". CBG agreed.
But I don’t think anyone even noticed.
* Which I do not approve of, for the record.
**You may have had to grow up in Marin for that to make sense. Let me know.
Of course, it’s even weirder when I’m only there to pick up a friend from high school to go to another high school friend’s grave. We stopped to pick up flowers because it, well, just seemed like the thing one does when visiting a cemetery. The florist shop we saw from the car in downtown Fairfax was closed so we walked across the street to the independent natural food store to see if they sold flowers.
It was a store not unlike the one I work at, although about half the size. I saw someone sweeping up in the bulk section. He was a hippieish white guy in his early 20s. "Do you sell flowers?" I asked
He gave me a why-do-I-have-to-deal-with-morons look and walked me over a couple of feet. "Yeah, we’ve got all kinds of flours," pointing out the white flour, wheat flour, oat flour, etc.
"No, no , no, I mean like flowers that grow in the ground, with petals and stuff." I’ll admit my communication wasn’t at its best either. He mumbled something that I took to be "I’ll go check" but obviously wasn’t since he never returned. I saw another worker cutting cheese in the aisle on a small table.* Even more my people I figured: a Marin, health-food working cheese cutter. A request for a florist was greeting with a frighteningly blank look. Not for lack of knowledge, she told us to go across the street, but in that everything-is-a-complicated-existential-question-that-I’m-working-on-bettering-myself-spiritually-so-I-can-comprehend way.** Then she just started looking over my shoulder at nothing I could see.
ComicBookGirl and I left. I felt displaced and odd. I couldn’t tell if I was somehow alienating these people or if I had just forgotten how to talk to them. Was it our non-hippieness? Did we talk too fast? Are we too urban now? We had to pass a café on the way to the car. Many people spilled out of it as well as a number of golden retrievers with neckerchiefs. I was searching for adjectives to describe them later and
anarqueso suggested smug. That’s part of it. Self-satisfied is another. How can I describe growing up in Marin other than when I (and my dead friend Rachael) were getting into No Business As Usual in order to "prevent World War 3 no matter what it takes!", people my parents age, though not my parents, were joining a group called "Beyond War".There’s some truth in advertising to that, actually. Not much affects you in Marin. I honestly could not hold back. As we passed the crowd at the café, I said very loudly "I’m so glad I don’t live in Marin anymore". CBG agreed.
But I don’t think anyone even noticed.
* Which I do not approve of, for the record.
**You may have had to grow up in Marin for that to make sense. Let me know.
