I would not say that I have lived in a lot of places, but I have lived in a few. Each time you move to a new city you face the same challenges: finding a new gynecologist, a hairstylist, friends, the best Thai restaurant, and which neighborhoods - or people - to avoid. Funny as it seems, the definition of "scary" people changes depending on the geography.
For example, living in Seattle and the Bay area was pretty mild, but not without its bottom feeders. I could not get used to the street kids holding signs asking for money, food and/or beer. I just knew in my heart of hearts they had rich families who cared for them and they were just too bratty and/or lazy to deal with household rules. I secretly wished they would put half as much energy into filling out a job application at Arbys - like I had to do when I was 14. No, it's not glamorous, but neither is sitting on a street corner looking filthy begging for money. Annoying - yes. Scary - absolutely not.
Chicago was a different beast because it all depended on what neighborhood you were in. The first neighborhood our U-Haul pulled into was Lincoln Park - nothing but rich, yuppie white people, Cubs fans, and a handful of gays (given its proximity to Boys Town). The vibe was pretty safe and mild - unless the Cubs were playing the Sox in the Cross Town Classic - then things got ghetto real fast. The white, yuppie sports fans kept the neighborhood sporty and frat-like while the gays kept it colorful, stylish and fit. Not scary at all for the third largest city in the U.S.
After Lincoln Park, we ventured about three miles west to an area called Bucktown/Wicker Park. According to more than one cabbie, it used to be impossible to catch a cab in those parts - nothing but buses and bullets. Not so when we lived there. The artists had pretty much moved in and made the neighborhood hip, trendy, and increasingly expensive. There was however, a prostitution problem in the area. This was only apparent if you had to walk your dog between the hours of 5-7 a.m. - which, unfortunately I did. This problem was pretty much isolated to young, scabby, drug-seeking Polish girls (the prostitutes) and scummy, good-for-nothing Guido's just getting off the night-shift. For some reason unknown to me, they all LOVED our alley at Oakley and North Avenue. Apparently, every morning when I awoke to walk Eddie, our pug, I must have looked eerily similar to a Polish prostitute. Yes, I was white and had just rolled out of bed, but it was MY bed. You know, the one I share with my HUSBAND you asshole. With my hair disheveled and dark circles under my tired eyes, these grody dudes would slow their shit box of a car down to about 1 mile an hour and stare at me in hopes I would give them some sort of quote for my services. My best and final offer was always my middle finger in their faces just after I pointed down to Eddie who was conveniently taking a crap on the sidewalk.
The prostitutes, on the other hand, were fairly nice and loved Eddie. He was quite the ladies man on the block. It's probably because he licked their scabby legs while we made small talk over whether or not they could bum a cigarette. Seeing how I don't smoke, my answer was always more than a little disappointing.
To my surprise, I did learn from one of the more friendly prostitutes that the going rate for a back alley blow job was $20. Are you kidding me? Ladies, if your blow job is worth a mere $20, then re-evaluate your services and hone in on your craft. That is repulsive and simply not right. Where is your self respect? And if that is all these guys can afford, then get some Neosporin, clear up your scabs, take a shower, brush your tooth and move to California. Surely, you could hook up with a celebrity reject like Charlie Sheen, become a goddess for a few days and bring in $30 grand in a flash! Hmmm....a $20 blow job or $30k for an evening. You do the math. (Perhaps long division is not their strong suit).
Then we moved to Madison and Hoyne - directly across the street from the United Center. The neighborhood was so new and so black, that it didn't really have a name yet - and that is what made it "affordable." Our condo building was wedged right next to a crack house that housed about a 100 killer chiuaua dogs. We had the occasional VIN-less abandoned car with bullet holes, late night domestic violence, and a slew of petty car thefts. Although we would hear gunfire at night, which at first can be rather disturbing, by morning things were always pretty calm outside. Never once did I get harassed, threatened or exposed to bodily harm. This led me to believe that the black people in my neighborhood really could care less about little ol' white me. They had bigger fish to fry. They had to save their bullets for other gun-carrying thugs and gangstas who meant business. In fact, I never had anything but kind gestures from my crack head neighbors. For example, when they were imprisoning flee-infested baby chiuaua puppies in their light-less, confined, stifling hot backyard shed, they offered to sell me one for $20. That was a real deal on a AKC puppy in Chicago. Or, better yet, when I came home from the hospital having had a C-Section and unable to get to the local Walgreen's for my pain meds before it closed, they offered me free drugs to help me with the pain. Now, if that's not a "Giver" attitude, I don't know what is. All in all, it was a very nice neighborhood to live in. And, if any of you out there would like to buy that very condo, please call...it is still for sale after five years on the market. Wink, wink.
After trading in the homeless street kids, Lincoln Park yuppies/gays, Polish prostitutes, and charitable black drug dealers, we moved to Yakima. Appropriately dubbed the "Palm Springs of Washington" - I later find out that it is also dubbed Yaki-Vegas or Yaki-Crack...we were certain that we were moving to some sort of rural, small town paradise. Surely there would be nothing but rainbows and unicorns and friendly, out-going small town folk ready to welcome us to this glorious community. But, we soon found out that most white people consider the Mexicans to be their annoying version of the street kid, yuppie/gay, polish prostitute, black drug dealer. Now, my husband is Mexican, but unclaimed by most Mexicans in town. They probably find him pretty embarrassing. He is not Catholic, he has never been to a quinceanera, and despite growing up with a Father who's first language was Spanish - he can only say gracias, adios, and count to ten. He's kind of a Mexican reject around here. He's pretty hot though, so I still claim him.
I'm not sure why people have such great disdain for the Mexicans in Yakima. After all, they make amazing carne asada tacos, they provide only the most economical labor to harvest our abundant crops, and most embody family values like no other. (Excluding the Mormons, of course). Sure, I get the overcrowding argument, or who is paying for their health care, bla bla bla, but I don't want to get into those things right now. And, true, there is the pesky little problem of gang violence. But that really only occurs amongst other Mexican gang members, and as long as you stay above 16th Avenue, you are highly unlikely to get hit by a stray bullet. Let's get real. White people are rarely hurt by Mexicans - ever.
You want to know what really scares me here in Yakima? Poor, meth-addicted white guys without a hope or a dream. I'm telling you, there ain't nothing scarier than a desperate white person with nothing to lose. Just drive out to West Valley amongst all the trailer parks appropriately named "Paradise Valley" or "Golden Villa" and you will see some scary sights and some freaky people. Or, if West Valley isn't your thang, go hang out in Spokane for a few days. There are plenty of scary, desperate white people there.
I am super sensitive to the scary white guy for one major reason. To help put this into perspective, we recently had a 20-something, meth-addicted white guy - not too far from our house - creep into a gated community (near his trailer park no less) and randomly bludgeon a family of three with a hammer. A hammer! Three people at random with a hammer! That is scary crazy stuff! And let's not mention the real white serial killer psychos like Dahmer, Manson, Bundy, and Gacy. In fact, the Top 10 Evil Serial Killers List contains 9 white guys and 1 Pakistani - and I'm pretty sure the guy from Pakistan had some white in him too. Coincidence? I think not. Unfortunately, it is a horrifically valid stereotype.
Well, if you are smart, and you want to steer clear of an extremely violent, random act of violence, always run when you come in contact with a white guy without a conscience, hope or a dream. Nine out of ten times, it's a white guy. (Maybe you should be optimistically cautious around Pakistani men too...one out of ten times isn't a statistic I'm willing to challenge.)
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