So there was this guy named Baker.
And he had a field.
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how Bakersfield got it's name.
Seriously, there's nothing more to it than that.
These are simple, no nonsense people. Back before the developers wrested control and started naming everything after air fresheners (Sagepoint, Laurelglen, Windsong...), what you saw was what you got.
Where does the county end?
County Line Rd.
Where's the University?
University Avenue.
Where's the old river?
Old River Road.
What about oil?
Oildale.
Fruit?
Fruitdale.
Actually, that Dale fellow really got around - Rosedale, Stockdale, This-dale, That-dale.
Three guesses what you'll see out on Weedpatch Highway.
Or maybe it was just laziness. All the streets downtown are named "A" through "V", all 22 letters of the alphabet. See? Laziness. They couldn't even be bothered to finish the alphabet.
The only exception is there's no "I" Street.
Instead it's... Eye Street.
Either someone had a wicked sense of humor, or the people who lived here were even more dense than the current population.
Which brings up another thing. What exactly do you call the people who live here? There's nothing obvious, like "San Franciscan" or "New Yorker". Nothing vaguely romantic like "Angeleno". Or whimsical like "Seattleite".
"Bakersfieldian" is a nonstarter. Try saying that three times fast.
I was kind of partial to "Bakerputians" when we first moved here. Or "Bakerpudlians".
"Bakeoids"? "Bakeholes"?
Nothing seemed to strike a chord.
At the end of the day, I realized I needed to just go with my gut, ditch the whole "Bako" prefix and use what worked best.
Fucktards.
Harsh? Sure. But if you lived here, you'd know it's the right choice.
And after all, it could be worse. The neighboring city to the South, Taft, was once known as... Moron.
It would appear that over time, all the Morons moved here.
