Going Green

The view from 1,000 feet above was dismal. Compartmentalized. Lackluster gray. Far different from the brilliant sea of lights I was accustomed to-- It was always a bittersweet reunion coming home.

Time to take it easy. Get back to basics. Realize my roots. Go Green. Catch up with the old friends and their new families. Questioning whose grass was really greener--

In a valiant attempt not to stand out too much as the typical New Yorker, I packed whatever was left in my urban wardrobe that was not too provocative or not too black. Which was not that much. I abandoned my stilettos for snowboots and ruled out anything involving metallics or Swavortski Crystals or designer labels displayed on the exterior of things. It wouldn`t matter here.

In East Lansing Michigan, folks were more impressed with how much you saved rather than how much you spent. Proud to display their Prada knockoffs from Target and declare "Can you believe it?...$11.99!" A New Yorker wouldn`t be caught dead shopping for a replica let alone disclosing the savings. Tres gauche.

But where I came from, appearances never mattered so much. We had the time to get to know you, pry beneath the cloak of contrived wealth via Italian branded handbags and Swiss timepieces whose discounted price far surpassed the down-payment of a home.

Folks from Michigan were simple, yet intuitive people. Unimpressed with image, they preferred to take you in wholeheartedly. Like good friends catching up over coffee. To an image obsessed New Yorker, this deconstruction can prove far more revealing, and consequently, far less comfortable.

The stewardess bid the Midwestern passengers an enthusiastic
"Happy Turkey Day!" And proceed to make it worse by adding the perfunctory, "Gobble Gobble!" People laughed. Nobody in New York would have laughed at that. They would have rolled their eyes in embaressment for her. Tres tres gauche.

As my foot stepped from the plane onto the skybridge the frozen air sobered me, painfully. My breath expiring to white smoke even before I hit the gate. Jesus--how did I ever exist in this? 19 degrees felt like 20 below zero in my Bebe mock anorak with mock fur. I cursed my hasty decision to abandon the undergarments previously purchased for snowboarding in Vermont. If outdoor conditions ever called for Capilene, it would be now. Although in NY I had seen colder days, somehow it always seemed violently cooler in Michigan.

Once inside the terminal walking NY fast, dodging and weaving between lethargic Midwesterners, I was quickly reminded why carrying that heavy residue of super-sized burgers and bloomin' onions was so acceptable here. That extra layer of "padding" came in handy on days like today. Days the Michigan folk would claim, were just like any other day. And rather than battling wintry dreariness with luxury jaunts to Aruba, the folks here simply rolled with it. Making the best of their first home, and "2nd Cloudiest City In The Nation." They accepted their fate without resistance, and gingerly headed to the Cheesecake Factory for refuge.

Although the ever-smiling members of the Hertz # 1 Gold Club were quick to accommodate my high maintenance NY ways, I quickly shunned them all as they sent me and my overstuffed NY bags packing on a solo journey. "Valet?" I wondered in vain as I headed begrudgingly, 27 paces that felt like miles to the bay marked E-32. Naturally, the car parked furthest from where I had been dropped by the "courtesey" bus.

When I came across my assigned upgraded Luxury SUV, I considered someone must be playing a cruel joke. The alleged grade higher promised to me was apparently in mass, not in class. This monster truck disguised as a Ford FREESTYLE was an ironic vehicle in more ways than one. Behind the drivers seat, the van could easily seat 8. Awesome. I mentally calculated the additional 140 dollars for gas this complimentary upgrade would run me. How this family sized maxi van translated to "Freestyle"--I have no idea. Suddenly I questioned whether the effervescent Flo, my Hertz #1 Gold Club Customer Care Representative, held a stealth grudge against me. That she secretly knew I was 33 and harbored a guilty child-free and single and I don`t care complex. Come to think of it, she did call me ma`am...

After cranking up the heat to 90 I began to defrost, both physically and mentally. Out of sheer necessity, I forwent the desperate attempt to appear tragically un-hip and reached for my oversized NY sunglasses. Not to shield my eyes from the sun, but decipher between the blinding grayness of road versus sky that lay infinitely monochromatic before me. A scene so bleak, it was enough to hurl any naturally optimistic college grad with the world ahead of her into a Seasonal Affective Disorder downward spiral. Check. Another reaffirmation of my escape from the Great Lake State.

Heading west on the I-94, I took full advantage of the 70 MPH speed limit and then some. Anxious to meet my demons and get it over with. In less than 90 minutes the Prodigal Daughter would return to her roots. The reconciliation of my past...a mere 88 miles away.

(To Be Continued)

Comments

[Barry]

Stumbled onto this. Is it fiction or your life? Or both?

[Said]

Sounds like Michigan sucks a big one.

-Wisconsinite

[Kirsten]

Returning "home" after being so accustomed to big city life, the culture shock can be mind-numbing. I completely relate. You cured my homesickness for Michigan - for now anyways.

[leila]

thanks for an entertaining read! it's good that you can laugh at yourself and the ways you have tried to adapt from your gauche Michigan background to being a 'native' of the 'Big City'. your humorous self deprecation shows strength of character.

[satish]

going green looking at this i lost all my tensions and i got a plesent feel.i can say u one thig thanku for putting it and making it thanks a lot