Ohio: A World Apart

Remember when Brandon and Brenda moved from Minneapolis to Beverly Hills? (Forgive the analogy to a fictional event that happened almost 2 decades ago, but the series premiere of the “new” 90210 airs tonight, and I am positively giddy). They had no friends and relatively no clue about life in this sunny paradise. They figured they had to forget their Midwestern sensibilities, their small town roots, and their amiable methods of interaction. After all, they were moving to a big city filled with glitz, money, trendy clothes, and spoiled snobs. To their credit, they remained pretty grounded and eventually rubbed off on their new circle of friends, making each of them better people in the process. However, this was television, and the Walsh’s transition was more or less wrapped up in an hour. Reality is a little trickier, especially when the destinations are reversed. I feel like I’ve just moved back to Minneapolis.

Though I’ve only been in Stow, Ohio a couple of weeks, I’ve noticed several changes from living in Boston. The number of fast food restaurants is astounding! I’m pretty sure I’ve passed more Burger Kings than gas stations. Also, it seems rare to find a top flight, fancy restaurant, as opposed to say a Chili’s or Applebee’s. Not to seem condescending, as I’m sure to many a steak from Outback constitutes fine dining on a Saturday night, but I miss the offerings of the South End, the North End, and all the best steakhouses and sushi in between. Still, none of that accounts for friendly service. On a recent dinner visit to Texas Roadhouse (a surprisingly good chain), my girlfriend and I were told we’d have at least a thirty minute wait. Imagine our surprise then at being called to sit 3 minutes later. We weren’t even ready, since I was busy cracking peanut shells from the gigantic barrel they made available to patrons in the waiting area. Our waitress was among the nicest of all-time, sincerely recommending the best items on the menu and later apologizing for our food taking too long. We hadn’t even complained! Major points for customer service, I must admit.

Life in Boston was certainly faster paced, and in a sick way I miss several of the things I used to complain about, such as the police sirens that frequently raced by our living room after midnight. I enjoy noise at night, because it makes you feel that life is exciting. Something is going on, even if you’re not a direct participant. I miss the cabs that are always there to get you home when you’re inebriated. I don’t miss the traffic per se, though I do miss driving down Dartmouth St. with Cleary’s and Appleton Bakery to my left, blocks of endless Brownstones to my right, and Tremont St. straight ahead, not to mention Copley Square in my rearview. I miss walking to and from the bank and post-office. I miss having a stocked liquor store within a block of my apartment. I even miss Blade Barbershop, where Albert and a team of admittedly too friendly barbers would smile at me when I walked through the front door. Say what you will about the South End, Ogunquit Beach, and Provincetown, but they sure do make you feel welcome. At the same time though, I don’t miss street cleaning. I don’t miss the tickets or the meter maids. I don’t miss the tow zones or construction sites or resident parking stickers. And I don’t miss how people pretend they’re from out-of-town every day at 5pm when merging at an off-ramp from a lane that didn’t even exist, cell phones glued to their ears.

I miss the sports scene and unfortunately, that will not change. I miss the Boston Globe and Bob Ryan. I miss hearing endless radio banter focusing on the attitude of Bill Belichick, the strategy of Terry Francona, and the maturation of Rajon Rondo. I miss the smells of Fenway and the talk of titles. Fine, I’m an arrogant Mass-Hole when it comes to sports, but you know what . . . I’ve earned the right to be. Our success during the past 7 years has been mind-blowing, so it’s unlikely anything in Ohio will compare, though I’ve been told I must see a Buckeye’s football game live. But regarding the professional ranks, the intensity just doesn’t seem to be there. Strolling through a supermarket in Akron, I caught a brief glimpse of the Cleveland/Pittsburgh rivalry when a local approached a young man wearing a Steelers shirt. I believe his exact words were, “Be careful wearing that in here, heh heh heh,” followed by a playful smile and a pat on the back. He reminded me of the dope working on Alan Stanwyk’s plane in ‘Fletch,’ who liked to kid him when he asked, “Whatr you doin sum stuntflyin er something?” When I walked into a Verizon store sporting my Celtics championship tee-shirt, I wasn’t greeted with taunts or Yankee-like “you got lucky’s.” Rather, the two guys behind the counter were impressed that I actually attended game 7 in Boston and were jealous I got to see Lebron and Pierce in head-to-head action. They were fans, but their words lacked even a hint of resentment.

I love the prices. Gas is cheaper, food is cheaper, cable and internet are cheaper, and rent is much cheaper. Inexplicably though, home phone service is far more expensive, the one financial anomaly I have yet to figure out. The movies are cheaper and the local AMC theatre even offers $5 tickets all day on Mondays, including free popcorn. For those of you keeping score, that’s less than half of what a ticket at Loews on the Common charges. Of course, there are drawbacks to the low cost. There is no stadium seating or digital projection screen or IMAX experience where the surround sound threatens to crack one’s eardrums. One area where we’ve undoubtedly found more bang for our buck is car repair service. On the drive from Boston to Ohio, my girlfriend’s car died about 90 minutes from our final destination. When the tow guy arrived, he didn’t groan or complain about wearing long sleeves in the same scorching sun that had forced us to find shade. He smiled as he worked, jokingly asking me if I was ready to push the car for him. He asked my girlfriend what she was studying in graduate school and didn’t even pretend to know what Audiology was, innocently choosing to ask instead. In his place, I undoubtedly would’ve been nodding in false understanding, uttering bullshit responses like “sure,” and “of course.” Once we made it to the auto-shop, we explained our dilemma and after flexing a little big city attitude (it comes in handy for some things), the mechanic agreed to take a quick peak at her car. He instantly knew it needed a new battery, and scratched his head while wondering if she had the right kind of battery for her car in the first place (she’s had the car for 8 years). He suggested we wait in the cool office and help ourselves to some coffee while he searched for a replacement part. He was efficient and courteous, the battery was cheap, and the whole detour took no more than an hour, a relief since we thought our arrival would be postponed until at least the following day.

The tow guy and mechanic had been like a breath of fresh air, which accurately describes most of the strangers I’ve encountered here. I’m not quite used to random people saying hello to me yet (I keep expecting them to ask me a favor), but in a way it’s nicer than passing me by with total indifference. The waitresses and hostesses, the convenient store clerks and mailmen, the bank tellers and librarians, all seem cut from the same cloth. Even those guys from Verizon had been jovial and patient in the midst of a storewide computer malfunction (I’d never before dealt with friendly customer service at a cell phone store). During a similar computer crash at the local DMV, an employee announced aloud the problem and encouraged us to come back at a later time. I was blown away by this. While it certainly seemed logical and the neighborly thing to do, I can’t imagine an employee from the DMV in Watertown, MA raising her voice over the crowd to alert us with this crucial information. Isn’t it more likely we’d all be left walking in circles, sighing, and eventually swearing as the 30 minute wait became an hour, than 2 hours, and so on?

All things considered, life in Ohio has been pretty solid. I miss my family and my friends, but it’s like not moving in 1978. In an age where email and cell phones are as integral a part of daily life as food and sleep, it’s easy to stay in touch. And given the nature of the majority of folks in this area, I predict our transition will continue to be a smooth one. I even called an elderly woman “Ma’am” the other day while holding a door open. I suppose these small-town Walsh’s are rubbing off on me.