Seattle has its idiosyncrasies. It’s what makes this city unique. It’s what gives the city its specific “feel.”
In general, we don’t use umbrellas. We’re more a head-down-and-face-the-weather sort of town.
In general, we’re polite and courteous. Drop your wallet and chances are someone will help you retrieve it (9 out of 10 times, according to a Reader’s Digest study). We say good morning and thank you to the bus driver. We rarely honk our horns at each other, except for a polite little “bip” when the guy in front hasn’t noticed the light’s turned green.
And, in general, we don’t jaywalk. As evidence of this, I supply a recent video that shows Seahawks fans waiting for the light to turn green before they cross the street to revel in their team’s recent victory over the Broncos.
During our last trip to Bath, we stopped in at Same-Same but Different, a little bistro on Bartlett Street. It had a distinctly Parisian feel to it, but with an English twist–sidewalk tables and chairs, but wicker and steel, not wrought iron; creaky floors of dark wood, but well-lit from lamps and windows; a laid-back, unhurried tempo, but with attentive service.
It’s happened to us all. That moment when a word–a perfectly innocuous, everyday word–suddenly looks weird.
If you don’t have one, you need one. In fact, you need several.
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 