Getting settled in the hotel, overheard in a fancy restaurant and other tales of Portland from mutterhood’s first Travel Diary.
The Hotel
Upon arrival:
Two days later:
The Restaurant
Guy at the table next to us: “I can’t believe it!”
Me: Whirls around to catch a glimpse of the March Madness game on the TV over the bar.
Guy at the table: “Dude, 38 poems in that anthology? That’s crazy!”
The MAX
Scene: Empty MAX transit car, 10:30 at night. An older woman shuffles on, pulling two giant trash bags stuffed to overflowing. She finds a seat and lets loose a bright green helium balloon, which floats up in the air. Leaning back, she adjusts the gold-foil birthday hat on her head.
The Taxi
Our cabdriver, a born-and-raised Portlander, entertains us with stories from his 19 years of driving. Asked who the most famous person is that he’s driven, he mentions the head basketball coach at Washington State University.
“But I almost drove someone really famous once,” he says.
“How do you almost drive someone?”
“They arranged for the cab the night before, but they canceled it five minutes before I was supposed to pick them up.”
“That’s too bad. Who was it?”
“She’s a famous singer, you probably know her. What’s her name? Oh yeah, Roberta Flack?”