I’ll Have a Side of Seattle Freeze

Fuck Seattle.

I thought we’d be fast friends. You seemed so nice, so real, so like me.

I saw you from across a crowded room at another of these ho-hum get-rich pyramid schemes disguised as a fun cocktail party/fellowship gathering (Oprah would be proud!). You were yelling at your four kids in a way that invited warm, funny, offbeat comparisons…to me. You seemed frantic, zany, outrageous; someone I’d like to know, a best friend.

I heard you on the radio, on my soon-to-be favorite channel post-911 — the big brother I always wished for. All-knowing, calm, reflective, generous. When you responded to my tweet one day, I became an even bigger fan. When they fired you, I left, too, waiting and searching and waiting some more until I found you again on a successful podcast and doing real estate. I followed you on social media, and hired you to sell my house.

You never followed me back. You never called. You never once gave me a gift for Christmas, to the thousands I made you with my own hands.

You forgot me.

When I moved, you acted surprised, going through the motions of a good, caring friend, asking all the right questions like polite people do at a funeral.

I told you in so many ways, through so many loving gestures.

But you didn’t care enough. You didn’t like me back. You never will.

It’s the hardest lesson we can learn. I’m learning, though.


Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on March 7, 2021.

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