POR @ SAC: Wrong
2/9/18 Sacramento: Hot damn was I in a mood as I pulled into Sacramento. My inner temperament was that of a 12 year old who was forced to go to a family function. “Sacramento’s stupid, why did I even have to come here, I hate it here this is stupid. The Kings are stupid and bad, why am I going to watch the Kings, they’re STUPID.”
To defend myself from myself; I did go right to the arena after 9 hours of driving from Portland, so I was pretty beat. And I would’ve just preferred to just stay in Portland forever. My inner 12 year old was like, “Sacramento is so stupid, who even comes here. Portland’s so much better, Sacramento doesn’t even have raspberry basil buttermilk doughnuts and a brewery every 13 feet, so stupid here.” My inner 12 year old was very pretentious.
I internally sulked through the game, and the game sucked. The Blazers accompanied me from Portland, and Dame dropped 50 points through 3 quarters. He didn’t have to play the 4th because they were beating up on the young, not very good yet Kings. So it was kinda cool to see a 50 point game, but to be honest I was hardly paying attention.
I booked an extra day/night in Sacramento because San Francisco (which was the next stop) was dumb expensive. I figured I’d stay in Sacramento to get some writing done, since it was stupid and boring and cheap.
My plan was just to stay cooped up in my Airbnb all day and not spend any money, but I didn’t realize when I booked it that I couldn’t be there after 8 a.m., since the area was rented out as an office space during the day. I had to leave at 8 a.m. and could come back at 8 p.m. Now I was forced to experience Sacramento, so stupid!!
The thing about being out and about was that just about everything- aside from looking at trees- costed money. I went there to avoid spending, but now I was being forced to try and enjoy the city. I wasn’t being a very good unemployed person on this trip thus far; drinking good beer, eating artisanal hipster sandwiches, and tipping people like I had an income. But since I had pre-decided that Sacramento sucked, I would not be tempted by any good beer or food.
So instead I found a fancy coffee shop on the World Wide Web and walked the 3 miles there. I strolled along this bike path that connected to the downtown area of Sacramento, it was quite beautiful out, about 55 and sunny, and I was suddenly no longer feeling annoyed. Across the lawn that ran along this path were people’s backyards; one guy had a chicken coop, there were multiple backyards that had orange trees, an expansive community garden at the end of a row of houses, and this house had a legit batting cage in the backyard. Now I wanted to live in Sacramento.
I got to the coffee shop, and it was super kewl and hip. Their coffee was locally brewed or roasted or harvested or whatever hip thing they were saying about it, there was a rad dude playing rad acoustic guitar in the corner, and a beautiful girl with dreads was running the joint. I fell in love and told her that I hated Sacramento for no reason yesterday, and now I loved it. I was gonna move there and we could get married. She said no thank you, but have a good day.
After that I strolled around a park/ garden thing that had like 83 different types of trees, including more orange trees. Half the plants were all colorful and half were all dead. I wanted to climb a tree and grab an orange, but I wasn’t sure how legal that was, and didn’t wanna get jammed up by Johnny Law.
I did the free look at trees thing for a good while, but I still had like 4 hours before I could return to the place I paid to stay in. And now I found myself in Sacramento’s hipster underbelly, that I wasn’t aware existed until I sought it out. Of course I left the park and where did I go; a cocktail bar that doubled as a responsibly sourced butchery. Who did I think I was. Why did I keep doing this. Who knew Sacramento was cool.
I grabbed a stool at the bar and ordered some fancy ass Porter, because I was an asshole. After savoring the delicious brew I decided to re-enter reality, and ordered the shitty cheap light beer they were offering. Some of the people who worked at this groovy joint were just getting off and hung around the bar a bit, I got to chatting with them and the bartender. I was digging the camaraderie the staff had, and was tempted to apply for a line cook job. I was a kitchen guy, so I knew I’d get along with these kitchen people. So I asked them, I said, “hey guys! When I move here and marry the girl with dreads from the coffee shop, can I work here and we can all be best friends?” And they said no. Kitchen people worked in hospitality but generally hated people, so I understood.
There was this beautiful girl with blue hair who worked there. I told her about my Sacramento turn around, and asked if she would marry me if the dread girl meant what she said. And she said yes! Under one condition, she said I had to climb one of the trees and get her an orange. I told her I wasn’t sure if that was allowed, and I didn’t wanna get jammed up by Johnny Law. So I said never mind.
I hadn’t chilled with my friends in so long that I was ready to latch on to any group that would have me. That was until these two friends entered my eavesdropping zone. They were in the middle of some conversation and the one said, “yea, yea, yea it’s not WHAT you wear, but HOW you wear it.” And I thought, oh no, I don’t wanna be anywhere near these people. But maybe I was being too harsh. Sure I was no fashionista, I cared very little for clothes, but why should I besmirch these two buds for having opinions on fashion. I reserved my judgment of them as humans… for another 40 seconds or so. They were talking about the décor of the place or something, then one of them said, “what did you think of the bathroom?” And he was serious. The other dude said, “different… it was different, fun.”
Public service announcement: if you’re critiquing bathrooms of bars/restaurants; you need to get a hobby. And I’m not trying to be funny, for your own mental health, you have to take up crocheting or archery or start collecting bottle caps or something. Get a paper route, I don’t care what it is, but for the love of god find something to preoccupy yourself with. Oh man.
Anyway… so I left after that. I asked the bartender one more time if we could all be best friends, and he still said no thank you, but have a good night. My eyes went over to the blue haired girl and she had a look that said, “don’t ever come back in here unless you have an orange.” I nodded and took my leave.
It turned out that just because I assumed Sacramento sucked two days ago, it didn’t make it a cheap place to live. So I wouldn’t be moving there after all. But if anyone ever asked me about Sacramento I would tell them about oranges, and batting cages, and chickens, and trees, and responsibly sourced meats. I would tell them it’s not what you wear, but how you wear it. I would tell them about my best friends and my two wives. I would tell them to check it out.