I never realized how spoiled I was growing up in a big city. There was so much to do, but more importantly there was cultural diversity.
Pittsburgh ain’t all that. And I know it’s bad when I get excited in the line at Chipotle because right there, in that very line, was the biggest melting pot I had seen in weeks. An Indian couple in front of me, a black woman behind me. Wait, was that it? You see? That was enough to impress me.
This is a white ass city. And yeah, I’m a white girl. But I like color. I like Chinatown, Long Point, Greenspoint (Gunspoint), Mission Bend, Hillcroft, Airline and all Six Wards of Houston.
I miss attempting my rusty Espanol at a taco truck. The goofy smile on the face of the owner at Kim Tai as he corrects my pronunciation. “Cám ơn”, he says. “Gum on?” I respond as he laughs once again, patiently sounding “thank you” out while I continue to butcher his language. I should stick to food.
Almost everyone I work with is white. There is not a single Jesus to make fun of. Just Doug’s and Nancy’s and other boring ass names like Kelly.
The closest thing you get to culture here is the Polacks. And those delicious pierogies.