With the exception of a few short stints in other New England towns, I've lived in Maine my whole life. I know the geography of the state, were you can get lobster flavored ice cream, I've lobbied to the state appropriations committee, I've been to "the County." Corny Maine jokes always make me laugh: "Bangor? I hardly know her!" "You can't get there from here." Everything sounds funny in the accent. Here's a video some friends of some friends made (because everyone here has a mere two degrees of separation):
Mandy and I have been doing a lot of thrift shopping- mostly for her website shopgrandmajune.etsy.com. We scour the Goodwills and Salvation Army's within a ten-mile radius of Portland. I have my favorite locations, she has hers. We'll walk in the door, split up, then meet up after 20 minutes at the dressing room with our arms full. She and I will go in together, because four eyes are better then two (well... in our case, three and a half are better than two...) bringing in way more than ten items. We make yes, no, maybe piles, and make decisions.
On one such trip, recently, I found a grey sweatshirt, no hood, no zipper, that read: "Up North," in the same style one might find a state or univsersity name. I hold it up for Mandy and ask, is this funny? The woman behind us starts laughing. Out loud. So yes, it's funny. Up north, the general vicinity of the state above Portland where people camp, hike and ski. It's five dollars- kind of a no-brainer.
At this point, I'm starving. I had completed a nine hour shift at the Maine Roasters, and I was anxious to meet Angela for oysters at J's. Mandy is still deliberating, so I run over to Shaw's to grab a pre-oyster sandwich. She says her car, a 1984 tan VW Jetta we call Peacock, is unlocked, so I throw my prized find in the front seat, quite pleased with myself as I'm crossing the parking lot. I happen to notice that the contents of the driver's front seat of the car are a little bit different than before, but Mandy had to grab her phone while we were shopping, so I think nothing of it.
Ham sandwich in hand, I meet Mandy back at the car, just like we planned. She's not there. But... neither is the sweatshirt. She's still in the store. Had she gone back to the car, again? I practically run. I grab her by the arm, "Did you go back to the car?"
"No," she replies.
"Oh my god, the sweatshirt isn't there." (Because this is Maine, the thought doesn't even cross my mind that it could've been stolen. Once, I didn't lock Josh's car and his winter coat was stolen from the backseat. I felt terrible, obviously, but what the hell was his jacket doing back there, anyway?? Still haven't learned.)
"Well... there was a gold Volvo parked two doors down from me. I almost went to it when I was grabbing my phone."
And then it dawns on me. I put the Up North sweatshirt in the wrong car. I get really upset for a few reasons. 1, Why didn't that car lock it's doors?! 2. The contents of the car were obviously those belonging to a woman. This is definitely not going to be the beginning of a romantic comedy. 3. Why wasn't that car still there? 4. The Up North sweatshirt is GONE and I might as well have thrown that five dollars in the trashcan. Mandy explains the whole thing to the clerks at the Goodwill, how I bought the sweatshirt, to see if anyone returned it, and they laughed at her, well, me. Kate did the same thing a few days later, and the employees were equally bemused by my mishap.
A few days after that, even, I see a gold Volvo on Free Street. I'm with Kate, and I decide there's only one thing to do: leave a note. The chances of this Volvo being the same Volvo are slim, but it's ridiculous not to.
This is what it said:
Hello There,
This is extremely embarrassing, but a few days ago I mistakenly threw a gray "Up North" sweatshirt in a car just like yours (thinking it was my friend's car which is a very similar VW.) Obviously, this is a long shot, but I'd be pleased to find said sweatshirt.
Thank you for your time, and have a great day.
Sincerely,
Amanda
I leave it on the car and run back. Kate asks me if I left my phone number or email... and I realize this sweatshirt might be not be in my future. Because I didn't leave my phone number. I had to run back to my note and revise it. In the middle of Free Street.
No word, yet. I'll keep you posted.
Mandy and I have been doing a lot of thrift shopping- mostly for her website shopgrandmajune.etsy.com. We scour the Goodwills and Salvation Army's within a ten-mile radius of Portland. I have my favorite locations, she has hers. We'll walk in the door, split up, then meet up after 20 minutes at the dressing room with our arms full. She and I will go in together, because four eyes are better then two (well... in our case, three and a half are better than two...) bringing in way more than ten items. We make yes, no, maybe piles, and make decisions.
On one such trip, recently, I found a grey sweatshirt, no hood, no zipper, that read: "Up North," in the same style one might find a state or univsersity name. I hold it up for Mandy and ask, is this funny? The woman behind us starts laughing. Out loud. So yes, it's funny. Up north, the general vicinity of the state above Portland where people camp, hike and ski. It's five dollars- kind of a no-brainer.
At this point, I'm starving. I had completed a nine hour shift at the Maine Roasters, and I was anxious to meet Angela for oysters at J's. Mandy is still deliberating, so I run over to Shaw's to grab a pre-oyster sandwich. She says her car, a 1984 tan VW Jetta we call Peacock, is unlocked, so I throw my prized find in the front seat, quite pleased with myself as I'm crossing the parking lot. I happen to notice that the contents of the driver's front seat of the car are a little bit different than before, but Mandy had to grab her phone while we were shopping, so I think nothing of it.
Ham sandwich in hand, I meet Mandy back at the car, just like we planned. She's not there. But... neither is the sweatshirt. She's still in the store. Had she gone back to the car, again? I practically run. I grab her by the arm, "Did you go back to the car?"
"No," she replies.
"Oh my god, the sweatshirt isn't there." (Because this is Maine, the thought doesn't even cross my mind that it could've been stolen. Once, I didn't lock Josh's car and his winter coat was stolen from the backseat. I felt terrible, obviously, but what the hell was his jacket doing back there, anyway?? Still haven't learned.)
"Well... there was a gold Volvo parked two doors down from me. I almost went to it when I was grabbing my phone."
And then it dawns on me. I put the Up North sweatshirt in the wrong car. I get really upset for a few reasons. 1, Why didn't that car lock it's doors?! 2. The contents of the car were obviously those belonging to a woman. This is definitely not going to be the beginning of a romantic comedy. 3. Why wasn't that car still there? 4. The Up North sweatshirt is GONE and I might as well have thrown that five dollars in the trashcan. Mandy explains the whole thing to the clerks at the Goodwill, how I bought the sweatshirt, to see if anyone returned it, and they laughed at her, well, me. Kate did the same thing a few days later, and the employees were equally bemused by my mishap.
A few days after that, even, I see a gold Volvo on Free Street. I'm with Kate, and I decide there's only one thing to do: leave a note. The chances of this Volvo being the same Volvo are slim, but it's ridiculous not to.
This is what it said:
Hello There,
This is extremely embarrassing, but a few days ago I mistakenly threw a gray "Up North" sweatshirt in a car just like yours (thinking it was my friend's car which is a very similar VW.) Obviously, this is a long shot, but I'd be pleased to find said sweatshirt.
Thank you for your time, and have a great day.
Sincerely,
Amanda
I leave it on the car and run back. Kate asks me if I left my phone number or email... and I realize this sweatshirt might be not be in my future. Because I didn't leave my phone number. I had to run back to my note and revise it. In the middle of Free Street.
No word, yet. I'll keep you posted.
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