Greetings From Touristville

If I'd gotten to this car a little sooner,
you would see the no-parking sign clearly.

Living in a tourist town has its perks. In part because of its swollen population, Portland draws big musical acts in the summer that would skip us in the winter. Greg Allman and Death Cab for Cutie are still on the schedule. (Get your tickets now!) Mumford and Sons did a show for 25,000 fans a few summers ago.

But it's time to go. Roll up the sidewalks. We want to grumble about winter again.

Well, we don't want to bemoan winter, but the other option is pinching a nerve in our necks from shaking them at the tourists.

Take that car ^ up there ^ spotted on my evening walk. It's nowhere near the curb. It's nowhere near being parked legally. The sign pointing at the car says NO PARKING; the sign in front says 15 MINUTE PARKING.

*Slow clap*

Or take the intersection near my house. It's a little screwy, because a 20-foot section of the road is one-way. There is a big DO NOT ENTER sign leading into the intersection. And yet, it is an almost-daily occurrence to see a car pull into the intersection. Most days, they seem to realize their error but just bang a right as fast as possible. Others seem to realize their error and pull directly into traffic, poking a hole for their Escalade. It's always an Escalade. Today, a minor traffic jam occurred when a driver realized his error and tried to back up, only to find a senior citizen driver from out of state behind him, boxing him in. Then somebody tried to turn the corner.

For a while, I thought I was just lucky enough to be witnessing these driving atrocities. It has slowly dawned on me that I am probably not so lucky; people are driving through that intersection like scared deer 24 hours a day.

That's what it boils down to. People are clueless and scared. I was just as bad when we went to Quebec City this summer. This is why I didn't drive around Quebec.

When they're not behind the wheel, people can be lovely. They stop to ask me if it's OK to park on the street (Yep, the meters aren't enforced after 6 p.m.). I ask people struggling with our notorious tourist maps if they need directions or a food recommendation. Even if they don't want help, they usually appreciate the effort.

And hey, tourists bring in a lot of money. Between cruise ship berths, hotel taxes and increased spending on food and drinks, tourists help keep my taxes down by contributing millions upon millions of dollars to the local tax coffers, as well as millions more to my neighbors who work downtown and make money in the tourist industry.

At least people want to visit. That's where you have to leave it if you live in a tourist town. We are not, after all, talking about the center of Carbon County, Wyoming. That would be Rawlins, where the Greyhound bus pulls up directly in front of the Subway in town. There ain't gonna be any restaurants for another 300 miles and there ain't anywhere else worth eatin'.

We don't have that problem. It's beautiful here. It's temperate here. People here, other than myself, are very nice.

But there's a little diner called Becky's across the street from my house that is mobbed seven days a week. Lately, I've been craving one of their gigantic muffins. As a driver, I'm also craving the ability to make a left turn onto Commercial Street again. All in good time. We'll have plenty more visitors before the end of the season. So come park your car perpendicular to the curb, light it on fire, and go to the Greg Allman concert. You probably wouldn't be the only person to do it.