Please Look When You Cross The Street; I Don't Want To Hit You But I Will

Some say that Northeast drivers are crazy and they complain too much. This is true in any and all cases. Others say that Northwest drivers are polite and courteous. Also almost universally true.

But come on. Even Northwest drivers surprise me.

I'll lay this out in scenarios.

1. A small group of teens decides to cross the street, nowhere near a crosswalk.
The Northeast Driver: keeps going, and curses at the kids out the window for crossing outside of an intersection.
The Northwest Driver: slams on the brakes surprising other drivers behind to allow the kids to cross safely.

Okay, I'll go for broke here: if I'm crossing the street, I stop at the curb and look both ways like I was taught in kindergarten, lest the result be my untimely demise. This is undoubtedly part of a east-coast upbringing. If I'm driving, I learned that crossing outside of an intersection is the pedestrian's problem (and technically jaywalking, a ticket-worthy offense, although the number of jaywalking tickets handed out each year can probably be counted on two hands), unless they're already in the street. So when I'm walking with friends around town in the Northwest and they cross the street without looking or anything, I fear for their lives. When they see me hesitate at the street curb, I get funny looks.

So: Northeast drivers - quit your complaining. Northwest drivers - complain more so I don't rear end you for being polite.

2. The speed limit tends to be a general outline, but no one in the Northeast (and much of the rest of the East coast for that matter) takes it quite so seriously as people in the Northwest.

It was a shock to me that people on most roads (Interstate 5 being the main exception, but still not by much) actually observe posted speed limits. Here's a little math for you:

Northwest Limit = Posted Speed Limit + 5 mph.
East Coast Limit = As Close To 80 As You Can Get While Not Getting Caught Speeding.

It's no secret that east coast drivers tempt fate every time they start a car. But in the NW, its entirely a different driving culture. People slow down on roads to let people cross. No horns, no cursing. People actually drive the speed limit. I could get used to this, but I'll always have a soft spot for hurdling down windy narrow 2-lane parkways at 75 in the middle of the night.

Confusion in Aisle 5

The supermarket. It is a place where we can express ourselves entirely through food selection. It is a routine occurrence to see people happily spend more money on a product branded with any one of a number of tag lines trumpeting a nutritional feature ("Omaga 3!"), a production process ("All Natural!", "Organic!"), or just plain more (the omnipresent "Buy one, get one free!"). Granted, some of these tag lines have merits, but some are just gimmicks.

Ah, the supermarket. What a marvelous creation.

But there is a darker side. Surly clerks. Long lines. Soccer moms (with requisite large number of children). College students stocking up on junk food and surveying the cheap beer selection.

That in mind, its been drilled into my head that as little time as possible is to be spent in the supermarket. Avoid other people and say as little as possible. Get in, get out, get going.

Not so in the Northwest, as I've learned.

Upon an initial trip to a neighborhood supermarket no more than a few days after I stepped off the plane in Sea-Tac for the first time, I was greeted by the cashier. Greeted?

"How are you? Did you find everything?"

The cashier even smiled.

Confused, I held my silence. Was she serious? What kind of place is this? Do I look that out of place?

Skeptical, I quietly mumbled an "okay" a few seconds later. She rung up my groceries and I paid. Once my groceries were bagged and I had paid, I went to grab my bags, and then, the unthinkable.

"Would you like help out to your car?", the young woman asked, again with an unflappable smile.

My confusion instantly turned to sheer horror. Being generally polite was a nice touch (if unexpected), and hardly called me to question my sanity. But this? She meant to tell me that someone would help me carry my things if I wanted? I was used to hearing nothing at all except "$16.84, cash or charge?" from a cashier, but that reality was blown to smithereens in a very short period of time.

"Um...no?"

"Okay, have a nice day!"

I walked out of that supermarket into a brave new world that late summer afternoon. It took some getting used to, and it still just feels odd sometimes. And when I recount this story to friends, they look at me like I've said something crazy.

So, people of the Northwest - you have it good when it comes to the local grocery. And if you see someone who looks taken aback by the unconditional politeness of the cashier, well, they're probably not from around here.