Ever since we arrived here I've been searching for the perfect metaphor or analogy to describe life in Bako. The closest thing I was able to settle on was an episode of the original Star Trek series, the one in which Kirk, Scotty and Uhura are accidentally beamed into an alternate universe, an evil mirror image of reality as we know it, a place ruled by cutthroat barbarians. And Spock has a goatee. (The episode is "Mirror, Mirror", for all you Trekkers.) But although the barbarian part still seems accurate, Bakersfield is more inept than evil (at least if you ignore the politics) so overall it didn't seem quite right.
But since I've started this job a new metaphor has emerged, one that seems a little more spot on.
A terrarium.
An isolated, artificial ecosystem completely walled off from reality. And while people certainly leave (or flee), the bulk of the population has been here for generations and are completely happy as clams. It's unimaginable to them to live anywhere else. The flip side of that is that no one ever moves here of their own free will, so the locals are never exposed to outside influences. They've mutated to the point where the seem incapable of dealing with change.
Or with outsiders.
Like me.
I bring this up because I deal with this every day at work. Everyone knows I'm not from here and yet it just doesn't seem to compute.
I needed to get specs for an ad I was designing, so I went to the traffic manager to see if she had them.
"Just call Carol at the paper."
Um... Carol who?
"Carol. At the paper."
I'm sorry, I'm not from here.... Carol who? At what paper?
"You know...Carol. At the paper. She's married to Gene at the High School. Used to be on the Chamber of Commerce. Carol."
Listen lady, don't you people use last names? I don't know Carol. I don't know where she works. I don't know who the fuck she is. Give me a name, a number.
*crickets chirping*
Blank stares.
"C A R O L. She used to have her own business, that antique shop down on 19th. Remember?"
How the fuck can I remember? I haven't even lived here a year. And I never leave the house. Because of people like you.
It was like dealing with Coco the talking gorilla..."CAROL. PHONE. PAPER."
Eventually I got a phone number, which is about as good as it was going to get. I called Carol and finally got the specs I needed. And then I asked her what format I should submit the ad in.
"Just call Jim."
Oy vey. Again? Fucking Petticoat Junction. OK, Jim who?
"Jim. His wife works at Mercy. Daughter's on the cheer squad. Jim."
I go through this every single day. They just can't wrap there minds around the idea that someone may not be from here and doesn't know everyone. Or is related to everyone. Probably in more ways than one.
"This here's Bobbie Jo, She's my sister AND my aunt..."
Maybe it's just standard small town provincialism. Maybe it's inbred Darwinism. All I know is years of isolation has left the gene pool here very shallow.
And it appears to be shrinking by the day.
