Sensational

Had the best day at the new job so far. Thus, had to treat myself. Thus, had some sushi at a place called, "Rain." Sensational. Some of the best sushi ever to pass under my palate. Just a fifteen minute walk from the house I'm staying at. Sensational. As I walked home, a waft of waffles filled my nose. I turned toward the delightful aroma and there before beside me: a small shop packed with people. Waited in line for fifteen minutes to get one scoop of Honey Lavender homemade ice cream in a waffle cone made just twenty minutes before. Molly Moon's Homemade Ice Cream. Sensational.

Probably wouldn't see this in College Place...

I was walking up one of the steepest hills in the world toward an area of Seattle called, "Pill Hill," named so due to all three of Seattle's main hospitals perching upon it. Like being on a StairMaster set to "Advance Terrain," I trudged up that hill, huffing and puffing, when suddenly my nose caught the one-and-only sweet scent of marijuana. There, sure enough, just before me was a guy strolling along with a joint pinched between the thumb and forefinger of his right arm, which was twisted out in an effeminate manner. Yep, the posture of a pot smoker. As my eye examined the joint, it slowly moved up this man's arm until catching a familiar graphic on his shirt--a graphic as familiar as my days in elementary school. Suddenly it registered and I had to suck in a strong desire to burst out in uproarious laughter: this guy was wearing a "D.A.R.E. TO KEEP KIDS OFF DRUGS" shirt!

A Dry Cleaner making it feel like home...

Fortunately Seattle was not a place void of friendship before moving there. But even if I hadn't known anyone, it turns out that I would have been OK. My coworkers are cool, and I share stuff in common with each of them. Only took a short time to feel at home around them. But they were not the first to make me feel at home in a new land.

No, it was a boisterous, effeminate Asian named, Philip. I first entered his dry cleaner shop in a panic over a huge line of stains on my pants that I had just discovered--with just two hours till an interview. Though he could not get the stain out in time, he was so genuinely compassionate about my predicament. Later I had him clean my entire suit, and besides doing superb job, he was timely and, again, so genuinely kind. He wanted to know about my wife, my life in Walla Walla, my reasons for moving to Seattle, and more. He was the first stranger to make Seattle feel like a potential home.

My visit on Wednesday was most memorable. I entered his shop with an inquiry about his tailoring capability. My U.S. Bank shirts look like tucked-in parachutes on me. The red one is especially clownish. He told me he could do it for $20 per shirt, including cleaning--best deal I had heard so far by 15 bucks. As I left saying that I'd be back with my parachutes, he enthusiastically blurted with a smile, "I am your cleaners!"

"Yes, yes you are my cleaners!" I replied laughing.
"Alllll riiiight!" he exclaimed (with the vigor and tone akin to Mr. Miyagi shouting, "BONZAIIII!!!" in The Karate Kid).

"Alllll riiight!" I parroted back with an enthusiastic thumbs up!

Seattle was now my home.