3617
Out and about this chilly morning in Portland, but not going directly home. We have a little adventure in mind.
Specifically, to put fuel into Olivia the VW and to the Gateway WinCo store, to acquire but a single package of backup toilet paper. Which sounds kind of wrong in absolute terms, but that's what it is.
Just one package.
From my workplace I use an alternative way. NE Sandy Blvd to 82nd, then south on 82nd to Burnside. There's a Chevron there and we've been stopping regularly there for over 15 years now. It's got the best prices along that stretch of 82nd and the lowest prices near Chez ZehnKatzen. We've made several neat acquaintances amongst the staff there over the years. Good people.
Again, I note the perspective problem about working third-shifts and weekends: during times when the landscape's supposed to be unnaturally vacant, it's awful hard to discern any real difference. People, even in a big town like Portland, aren't really out during those hours. And while East 82nd Avenue is one of of the principle cross-town routes on the east side of Portland, even it has its lull during the flip-side hours.
I do fancy, though, I discern a difference. Herewith, a view south down NE 82nd at the crest of the hill alongside Madison High School:
I remember some quiet mornings on 82nd, but this is a bit unusual. That overpass is only a s'kosh less a mile away, it's the one that carries Halsey Street over 82nd and just north of the MAX station there. That's a lot of street, even at 7:15ish on a Sunday morning, not to have one thing moving, no activity of any kind.
I was able to take this from behind Olivia's wheel, stopping the car, without needing to worry about someone coming up on me from behind. That's how little traffic.
The lack of traffic was even more noticeable here, at NE 82nd and Holladay:
The nearest signal there is Glisan. Next in the distance is Burnside; after that, Stark/Washington. This is about three-quarters of a mile; only one car in all that space.
The filling of the Beetle was pleasant enough. The thing you have to be ready for about having a vintage VW Beetle is that people will chat you up about it; Beetles are friendly cars, and people are very affectionate toward them. There was a 20ish fellow helping about at the pumps there, and he couldn't stop admiring it. I like having a car that leaves people smiling.
That was the easy part. I was ready-steeling myself for the next stop: the WinCo on NE 102nd Ave, in downtown Gateway. I had seen the lines on TV and, because of the emergency, the hours are now 8 AM-Midnight.
24 Hour Savings have been reduced to 16 Hour Savings for the duration, and when I got there, there was indeed a line:
I made haste to the end of this line, which added a few more shoppers before I joined. Attired as I was in my regular street clothes, including tattered suit jacket and Birthday Hat, it was a little uncomfortable - it was in the thirties still, but I managed to hack out the 30-minute wait to get in the store.
I don't know if it's part of the stress on the general zeitgeist but something had gotten under the hood of this one man. He was about six-three, black man, dark pants, peacoat, who wandered up and down the traffic lane there alongside the store, and alternated between being upset and doing a peculiar little dance and chant.
When I'd gotten there he seemed to be mad at the building and kept berating it for "sucking the dick of EMPIRE!". He transitioned from this to doing a little bouncing dance on the balls of his feet and spreading his arms out in a symmetrical robot-like wave, and his chant went into a repetition which went something like
Work it!
Work that BODY!
Work it OUT!
Or figure it OUT!
He then made some sort of reference to working it out like Batman, then folding in a reference to Superman, then going back to accusing the building to sucking the dick of empire again. We in the line collectively warily watched him and we all kept our 6 feet of personal space, and there seemed also to be this unspoken understanding that as long as he kept in the traffic lane and his distance thereon we were all the coolest of cool, and he could do his bit and we could enjoy the entertainment, such as it was.
I was, it will be doubtless a relief to all, able to score some toilet tissue. The offerings were restocked, but not with much. I was hoping for our usual brand but there was only MD and Angel Soft and the cushy stuff to be had, and the pickings were still quite slim; only a fraction of the paper aisle had been restocked. Between the lean toilet roll offerings and the equally-lean paper towel offerings there was still a great deal of clear shelf space. We can only be so choosy these days and, alas, this household will have to get off Scott-free for just a little while.
Also a 40-lb bag of cat litter; the Itty Bitty Kitty Committee needs its toilet needs seen to, too.
Thence to home.
And so it goes.
Specifically, to put fuel into Olivia the VW and to the Gateway WinCo store, to acquire but a single package of backup toilet paper. Which sounds kind of wrong in absolute terms, but that's what it is.
Just one package.
From my workplace I use an alternative way. NE Sandy Blvd to 82nd, then south on 82nd to Burnside. There's a Chevron there and we've been stopping regularly there for over 15 years now. It's got the best prices along that stretch of 82nd and the lowest prices near Chez ZehnKatzen. We've made several neat acquaintances amongst the staff there over the years. Good people.
Again, I note the perspective problem about working third-shifts and weekends: during times when the landscape's supposed to be unnaturally vacant, it's awful hard to discern any real difference. People, even in a big town like Portland, aren't really out during those hours. And while East 82nd Avenue is one of of the principle cross-town routes on the east side of Portland, even it has its lull during the flip-side hours.
I do fancy, though, I discern a difference. Herewith, a view south down NE 82nd at the crest of the hill alongside Madison High School:
I remember some quiet mornings on 82nd, but this is a bit unusual. That overpass is only a s'kosh less a mile away, it's the one that carries Halsey Street over 82nd and just north of the MAX station there. That's a lot of street, even at 7:15ish on a Sunday morning, not to have one thing moving, no activity of any kind.
I was able to take this from behind Olivia's wheel, stopping the car, without needing to worry about someone coming up on me from behind. That's how little traffic.
The lack of traffic was even more noticeable here, at NE 82nd and Holladay:
The nearest signal there is Glisan. Next in the distance is Burnside; after that, Stark/Washington. This is about three-quarters of a mile; only one car in all that space.
The filling of the Beetle was pleasant enough. The thing you have to be ready for about having a vintage VW Beetle is that people will chat you up about it; Beetles are friendly cars, and people are very affectionate toward them. There was a 20ish fellow helping about at the pumps there, and he couldn't stop admiring it. I like having a car that leaves people smiling.
That was the easy part. I was ready-steeling myself for the next stop: the WinCo on NE 102nd Ave, in downtown Gateway. I had seen the lines on TV and, because of the emergency, the hours are now 8 AM-Midnight.
24 Hour Savings have been reduced to 16 Hour Savings for the duration, and when I got there, there was indeed a line:
I made haste to the end of this line, which added a few more shoppers before I joined. Attired as I was in my regular street clothes, including tattered suit jacket and Birthday Hat, it was a little uncomfortable - it was in the thirties still, but I managed to hack out the 30-minute wait to get in the store.
I don't know if it's part of the stress on the general zeitgeist but something had gotten under the hood of this one man. He was about six-three, black man, dark pants, peacoat, who wandered up and down the traffic lane there alongside the store, and alternated between being upset and doing a peculiar little dance and chant.
When I'd gotten there he seemed to be mad at the building and kept berating it for "sucking the dick of EMPIRE!". He transitioned from this to doing a little bouncing dance on the balls of his feet and spreading his arms out in a symmetrical robot-like wave, and his chant went into a repetition which went something like
Work it!
Work that BODY!
Work it OUT!
Or figure it OUT!
He then made some sort of reference to working it out like Batman, then folding in a reference to Superman, then going back to accusing the building to sucking the dick of empire again. We in the line collectively warily watched him and we all kept our 6 feet of personal space, and there seemed also to be this unspoken understanding that as long as he kept in the traffic lane and his distance thereon we were all the coolest of cool, and he could do his bit and we could enjoy the entertainment, such as it was.
I was, it will be doubtless a relief to all, able to score some toilet tissue. The offerings were restocked, but not with much. I was hoping for our usual brand but there was only MD and Angel Soft and the cushy stuff to be had, and the pickings were still quite slim; only a fraction of the paper aisle had been restocked. Between the lean toilet roll offerings and the equally-lean paper towel offerings there was still a great deal of clear shelf space. We can only be so choosy these days and, alas, this household will have to get off Scott-free for just a little while.
Also a 40-lb bag of cat litter; the Itty Bitty Kitty Committee needs its toilet needs seen to, too.
Thence to home.
And so it goes.
