Whiplash and Culture Shock

In one of the on-line groups that I belong to, there was a discussion about artists and other weirdos.

While responding to the post, I thought about the time I had moved to New Bedford in 1981.

All my life, I had to deal with people thinking I was a little bit weird. That was OK.

If being "weird" meant having a greater understanding and appreciation of the world around you by enriching your life with new experiences and learning new things ~ then that was fine by me. And if people chose to be afraid to venture past the self-limiting mindsets that have been ingrained in them since birth ~ well I could respect their choice to do so.

For the most part, I had no problems with being the oddball. After all, my quirky perspective and subsequent commentary have easily made people laugh ~ even when I wasn't trying.

Because life can be funny and laughter a great thing, my "weirdness" was easily channeled into my own particular brand of off-beat humor.

After all, how many people can say that nerds and geeks are sexy ~ and honestly mean it?

But that's besides the point.

For most of my life, I've had no problem in finding an appreciative audience.

When we moved to this country, my family was lucky enough to have settled into Providence, Rhode Island.

Thanks to Brown University, the Rhode Island School of Design, and the many other colleges and universities that fair city, Providence was quite the cosmopolitan community. A family of foreigners such as my own hardly stood out. And for folks who valued education, Providence was fertile grounds for further enrichment.

Even though we lived in a small working-class neighborhood, it was not uncommon to find ourselves neighbors with college professors.

However, when I moved to New Bedford, Massachusetts in 1981 ~ right after I graduated college ~ I was in for quite the culture shock.

After being spoiled by Providence, where you could find just about anything and where you could get to anywhere thanks to the city buses that ran until midnight, it was quite a shock to discover that the mass transit system in New Beige raked in the sidewalks right after 5 o'clock.

What's more, where in New Bedford could I find a decent tin of imported tea?

Still, New Bedford was a charming city, even though ~ after living in Providence ~ this Number One fishing port felt more like a large town trying to pretend it was a small city.

The historic waterfront, with its cobblestone streets, was a short walk from my apartment. The opulent sea captains' mansions were another short walk in a different direction.

However, the daily walk to my job in downtown was like running a gauntlet. In one week I would experience more incidents of sexual harassment than in the 20 years I've lived in Providence.

This was all the part of the beginning of my realization that New Bedford was a very different place from good ol' Providence.

For one thing, the style of clothing that I preferred at the time would have not even caused anybody to bat a eye in Providence. In New Bedford, it caused major whiplash.

Of course I did not know to what great extent this was so ~ not until long after a certain incident.

That occurred just months after I moved to New Bedford.

A roommate had worked as a short order cook at a local downtown greasy spoon that was a favorite fisherman hang-out. She was kind enough to get me a job there, too.

It certainly was not a job worthy of my college degree in physics. But it did help pay the rent, which I shared with 3 other people. When people would ask me what I did, I would joke and say that I was studying the laws of thermodynamics by observing the rate of heat exchange from a hot grill to a cold piece of meat.

On my day off, which was also payday, I called my roomie at the greasy spoon and asked her if she wanted to do some downtown shopping after I picked up my pay.

(In those days, the weekly "pay check" was actually an envelope filled with small bills and coins.)

Anyhow, I was feeling in a really playful mood that day. So much so that I was going to wear my favorite clothes.

I first started off with my favorite jeans from college ~ the ones covered w/tons of leather patches and a random braided cord hanging from one of the belt loops. Next came my embroidered denim jacket with the large blue and green lizard that curled in a crescent on the back.

The look was completed with a pair of Frye boots that a friend had worn to the anti-war demonstration in DC in 1969 , a "Dr. Who" scarf that was actually a weaving sampler that I made in my fiber class, and a green floppy felt hat.

Boy! I looked SO cool it was scary!

When I got there, Karla had just finished cooking the last meal, and asked me to bring the plate out to the bar as she cleaned the grill. Being the good roomie, I was glad to oblige.

That done, and having collected our pay envelopes, we left.

When I returned to work the following week, I was in for the surprise of my life.

Up to this time, the diner's owner treated me like a daughter. However, now she did a complete 180 and became Cinderella's evil step-mother. And I had not the slightest clue why.

After a few more weeks of all of a sudden finding the tiniest fault in whatever I said or did, I was unceremoniously let go. Basically, I was told not to come back.

It wasn't until much later that I discovered the reason for this abrupt change of heart on the part of the owner.

Now that I reflect back on that time, I can see that it's actually comical.

You see, shortly after I brought the food out to the bar and Karla and I left, all of the patrons cleared out of the bar to have a look at the "real hippy" that just left the greasy spoon with the cook!

And apparently, the owner was NOT amused. Not in the least!

That was just the first of many lessons on not the best ways to "get noticed" in New Bedford.

Fortunately, since my first calamitous years in New Beige, the city's cultural and arts community started emerging ~ and growing. Many artists have been flocking to NB because of the availability and cheapness of studio space.

And during those years, I have grown and changed as well.

No, New Bedford is not Providence. Nor should it.

With its being home to sea captains and Moby Dick, slavery abolitionists and the Underground Railroad, New Bedford is a historical gem.

Not only that, New Bedford seafood is the best!