Oh, Spokane In addition to my time at the hospital, I had some experiences in Spokane today that kind of made my head spin. I didnt sleep well last night, so maybe I was over-sensitive, but here is some of what I encountered: I went to Zips, a local hamburger chain, for lunch. After I got my hamburger and tater tots, I noticed a couple who came in after me. The guy was probably around 30, at least six foot four tall, big boned, and had a huge gut hanging over his belt. He wore a tee shirt from some MMA gym and a backwards facing baseball cap. And, he was packing heat. He had one of those compact light-weight carbon-composite automatic pistols on his hip, and it had an oversized magazine that protruded at least five inches beyond the butt of the grip. Did this make me feel safer while I ate my lunch? It did not. I dont like being in places where random guys are expecting to engage in protracted fire fights. While driving across town I heard a radio station advertising that it is sponsoring a party at Daiquiri Factory, the internationally infamous bar that has a rape-joke themed drink called Date Grape Koolaid, and mocking the critics of said establishment as haters. (For context, 30 years ago, Spokane was home to a notorious and brutal serial rapist named Kevin Coe. After he was put on trial, his mother attempted to hire a hit man to kill her sons prosecutor and judge. The two of them were the subject of Jack Olsons true-crime book Son.) Then later in the afternoon, I dropped my moms taxes off at the home of her tax accountant. He has an sprawling ranch-style home in one of the nicer neighborhoods in town. It has large open rooms with dark wood paneling and expensive furniture. He had just picked up his gradeschool aged granddaughter and her friend at school and they were waiting to go off to some after-school program. The kids were having some dispute about what they should do while they were waiting and the granddaughter said We have a basketball court in the back yard. So off they went to play basketball. As we were chatting, the accountant found some reason to tell me a story about tenants who were renting a house he owns in Felony Flats. Then he said Its not a very nice neighborhood, and gave me a sly grin. It was the sort of grin that usually accompanies an off-color or bigoted joke. On my way back down the hill, I stopped at Dicks Hamburgers to get a milkshake. Dicks has been a Spokane institution since the 1960s. Its not in the best part of town and it is rough around the edges, as are most of its clientele. But you know, I felt more grounded in the company of the road-weary patrons of Dicks than I had in any other other place in town today. Oh, Spokane... I miss what you used to be, but when I finally leave here for the last time, I will not miss what you have become.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Mar 2014 07:45:02 +0000
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