Oh Seattle

Night before last, from seat 35G all the way at the back of the huge Boeing 767, I watched out my window as Lake Washington, the I-90 bridge, then the Space Needle, Smith Tower, and Safeco field came into clear view. It was 8:15PM Pacific time. My seatmate was a neat young woman named Mackenzie who manages a fish plant in Kake, Alaska. I was fascinated by her life in what she called the most beautiful place on earth. I called out the sites to her as I spied them. When I mentioned we were right over Qwest stadium, she said that the Seahawks had a playoff game that day. I told her, "Oh my god, they're playing right now!" The stadium was brightly lit, and every seat was filled. I knew it was a special time for Seattle. I looked on and watched hundreds of camera flashes light up the sky from within the stands. I could feel the energy.

We landed, and Mackenzie called someone on her phone to see if she could find out who was winning the game. Her first report was that Seattle was losing. Then she placed another call. She found out that Seattle has just won, 21-20; her friend said it was a wild game. We realized then that our plane had flown over the stadium right at the climax of the game. How cool is that? We were so excited that the Hawks had won and that, technically, we'd seen it happen! My trip had started out right.

Then I got to the terminal, and went straight to Avis to check in. There was no line. I was the only one there. "The Seahawks just won the play-off game!" I said with no lack of exuberance to the nice man behind the counter. He was so friendly. I asked what type of cars were in the class reserved for me, mentioning that it would be nice to have whichever one is highest off the ground (easier on the back). He looked at his computer and, to my surprise, said "You're in luck, we're all out of mid-size so I can upgrade to an SUV." Yes! How often does that happen?

I stopped at a Safeway that I used to shop at in Redmond. I grabbed some bananas and an Odwalla beverage and headed to the one check-out stand that was open. The only person in line ahead of me was a girl no more than 22 buying a pack of cigarettes—with dimes. $5.59 in dimes that she counted out one by one. (Dang, cigarettes are expensive.) It was late (after midnight my time), and after sitting on that plane for exactly six hours, all I wanted was to get to my motel and get unpacked. Naturally, I felt a bit annoyed. I guess if it had been milk and bread that she was paying for entirely in coins it wouldn't have bothered me as much. But when a young beautiful girl is so desperate for nicotine that she has to empty her piggy bank to pollute her lungs, why should I suffer?

Just as I was thinking that very thought, the girl looked up at me with a big genuine smile and sincerely apologized for making me wait. Suddenly it was all right. I could wait a few extra monments. Not only that, but the cashier—a dapper young man named Drew—expressed unbelievable patience with this customer. He held out his hand as she deposited the dimes there and remained completely pleasant. He wasn't faking it either.

When I got to my hotel in Redmond, the front desk clerk came out as I walked up to the counter, without my having to ring the bell. Not only that, she came out with a smile on her face. She checked me at lightening speed and showed me my room on a map. I was pleasantly surprised to find that my room had feather pillows on the bed, which is the only kind I can sleep on. Yay!

Later, I wandered past the front desk, ice bucket in hand. The nice girl came out and offered to fill my bucket for me, saying that the vending area was way down the hall. I was like, "You don't have to do that! I can go down there and get it." But she insisted and walked over to the nearby kitchen to fill the ice bucket for me.

I almost fell over. After two years on the east coast, I've grown accustomed to bad service. Well, it's more like I've resigned myself to it.

But this. . . this this is Seattle. Nice people, friendly service, and polite drivers. I've only been tail-gated once since my arrival (and that was some eastside snob in her Jag who practically drove on the shoulder to get around me). Things continued to go well yesterday. In fact, everything has gone right on this trip so far. Maybe it's a sign that I was meant to be back here—permanently. I love this place so much and feel right at home coming back. Oh and, once again, I forgot my umbrella. Ha!

Go Hawks!