The last couple days have been an intriguing exercise in understanding just how possible it is to loathe a city. Our story begins with a concert. Awhile back, my brother asked me if I wanted to go to She & Him with he and several friends. I knew it was going to be an outdoor concert in July, but I just had to see my imaginary-indie-hipster-girlfriend Zooey Deschanel at least once before I broke up with her, so I said yes. Sure enough July comes around, "it's so hot outside", and they actually want to spend the whole day in the ATL.
I opted to skip the Turner Field tour since I had to teach that morning, but I drove in for the Fox Theatre tour that their friend had set up since he works there and all. I find parking in one of the side streets where there was one of those new "efficient" digital parking meters for the whole block. I walk up to it with a handful of change in hand and put it all in. To my astonishment, it got me about 20 minutes of actual parking time at the space, so I run to my car to grab more change. As I'm sprinting back, I hear a click which I follow with a loud slow motion "Noooooooo!" Since I was a good 30 yards away from said "efficient" parking meter, I did not have enough time to add minutes to that receipt. I figured I could just add time to the existing space, but to no avail, so instead I just put a crapload of more change and got maybe 30 minutes of worry-free parking during the tour.
I walk in to meet my brother to find out that we still have to wait on one of their friends. I tap my foot nervously and try not to sweat the lack of time my car has before it's towed. Instead I do my best to enjoy the random facts their friend tells us on the tour. It was a good tour, but as soon as we finished, I jetted out the door to check on the car. I'm relieved to find it there when I get a call from a few blocks away that we're actually going to stay for a drink before going to the pre-concert dinner. Good Lord, why? I put even more money in the stupid thing and walked in the rain to the bar next to the Fox, down a beer, and walk back to my car, which is okay once again.
Then we head on to dinner, which was close to Piedmont Park. I park on a side street once again, but there are no robot meters that want to steal all my money, so I feel pretty good about leaving it there as long as it's not all night. We get dinner, have some drinks, and head across the park to the concert. My chance to see my imaginary-indie-hipster-girlfriend Zooey is just around the corner. I decided to celebrate a bit by overspending for a bottle of wine at the concession place thinking we'll all share the bottle. Little did I know that two others in our group were thinking the same thing. The whole sharing idea instead led to my own personal bottle of crappy concession wine. Oh well. Drink up.
The opening act comes on and sucks it up for a couple songs when the rain starts pouring down. I shrug it off in my buzzed state thinking who cares, but then a lady comes on the loudspeaker and directs us all to the main buildings. We grudgingly go and bring our buckets of wine and beer with us to covered ground. This was not a good place to be. I don't remember how long the delay was but I do know that all our beverages were consumed before going back out to our seats on the lawn. This prompted my brother to get just one more bottle that we proceeded to share.
From this point on, I remember very little, but here's what I've gathered since...
- I heard some songs by She & Him
- I may have seen my imaginary-indie-hipster-girlfriend play a ukulele for one of them
- We were told multiple times to keep it down
- My brother and I shared sips from the bottle
- The show ended
- We stumbled across the park to our sober friend's car
- A mess was made in aforementioned car (wasn't me)
- More mess came on the highway (also not me)
- I wake up on brother's couch
Mom: Do you have your phone? Are you okay? Who is answering your phone? I called twice and heard some weird guy on the other line. I think he was foreign or something. (Questioning continues on for several minutes)
Me: No, I lost my phone. I don't know who has it. Please stop talking so I can figure out what to do
I hang up and try my phone again. Someone answers and vaguely says hello, but hangs up really quickly. I try again. This time I can tell the phone has been opened and someone is on the other end, but no words come out. Our conversation...
Me: Hello, Hello?
Some guy: (some rustling around)
Me: Excuse me? Is someone there?
Some guy: Hello? (indeed a foreigner...or possibly a drunk)
Me: Excuse me sir. You have my phone. How did you get my phone? Where are you so I can get it back?
Some guy: You threw it away
Me: WHAT!? I DID NOT THROW MY PHONE AWAY. Who throws their phone away? Were you at Piedmont Park last night? I must have dropped my phone there. Who picks up someone else's phone and uses it? Can we meet somewhere so I can get it from you? I'll pay you. I just want my phone back.
Some guy: (grunt, grunt, mumble, mumble) Not your phone. You threw it away so it mine now. G-bye.
So I'm pissed, not to mention shaking with anger. I get on the Internet and find out I can deactivate the SIM card so I do. Meanwhile, I can barely tell if my brother is even alive. He gets up, lays down again, goes to the bathroom, lays down again, and grunts the whole time as if he's got the pig flu. I look out to see if my car is magically there or if someone might have driven it for me, and of course it's still at Piedmont Park. I wait and wait on my brother to see if he's okay to drive. Finally, 2pm rolls around and he says to just call our dad. I think, "Sweet! Why didn't I think of that? I'd love dad to see how completely not together both of us are right now." I do it anyway and he comes over to the apartment. All he could say when he walked in and saw his oldest son sprawled out over the couch grunting all the while only wearing his boxers was "whoa" and we proceeded back to Piedmont Park.
The rest of the story isn't all that funny. I imagined all sorts of scenarios that my car may have been involved in, but luckily he made it through the night in one piece. I treated my dad to lunch and went on my way to find a new phone.
So why does this story speak poorly of Atlanta?
It entails all the anxiety and stupidity I feel when I enter the city. I'm always pissed off at the traffic. I can never find a place to park and when I do, I freak out about getting towed the whole time I'm gone. I do stupid things here like drink too much and miss a perfectly good overpriced show at an overly hot and humid outdoor venue. I spend entirely too much on robotic parking meters, crappy concession stand bottles of wine, and expensive dinners that don't even include good beer. I sweat like a freak and even though I do that in most places in the South, I feel like the humidity skyrockets once I'm in the city. Pair that with unclean air and uncontrollable claustrophobia and you get a panic attack waiting to happen.
I know I've had some good experiences while in the ATL, but the bottom line is that I just don't ever want to be there for more than a few hours. I just don't feel like myself if I'm there for too long. So what then? Is Athens that much better? Well, yes, but as I'll explore in part 2, it may be time to say goodbye to it as well.
(You're probably tired from reading my ridiculously long post, so go take a nap or something. Part 2 on the way...)
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