The breakfast queue at Becky's Diner on Commercial Street snaked down the cobblestone sidewalk and around the corner of the old waterfront building. We drove by shaking our heads, reconnoitered and headed uptown. We parked with the dogs safely in the shade just off Congress Street and we began our morning walk in search of a cup of coffee and a bagel.
Marcy's Diner was also swamped and we continued on up the hill in the busy streets of the old historic city to Starbucks. The number of severely disabled people on the street was striking. People on crutches and in wheelchairs navigating their way along the rough brick and cobblestone. Stumbling old men in alcoholic fogs shuffling towards the open door of Mathew's Tavern on Free Street, the oldest working man's bar in the city. Homeless people with shopping carts and with signs working the corners for handouts. The display of tattoos was also striking. The public display of skin art was ubiquitous.
We waited in line at Starbucks behind a mute, wheelchair bound old man with his male Somali caregiver as they ordered their coffee. The old man gestured wildly, pointing and signing his order, repeatedly touching his face and waving his arms, making loud, excited bellows and squawks. He smiled broadly, rapidly maneuvering his chair with his feet as his caregiver carried their coffee to a table. We followed suit and took a table in the sun just beside them.
I watched the toothless, tattooed man in a white wife-beater tee-shirt cross the street with a 5 year old little girl in tow. He wore gold chains around his neck and a backwards baseball cap. She wore a long, dirty blonde ponytail and pushed a small baby stroller. They entered the restaurant and she smiled proudly displaying her missing front teeth as she approached the old man in the wheelchair. He glanced into the baby stroller and began to gesture frantically, pointing and stroking his chin.
The father sat the child at a table beside us and went to the counter to order. The little girl reached into the stroller and lifted a small furry object onto the table. I assumed it was a stuffed animal until it began wheeking and chirping whereupon she began feeding it pea pods. She looked proudly around the room and announced, "You can pat him if you want." I reached over and stroked the hairy guinea pig. "What's his name?" I asked. 'Shaggy", she said. An old man with bleary eyes, white hair and no socks stood behind her and observed for a long moment. I mean it's not every day you see a guinea pig on a table in Starbucks. The Starbucks crew watched chagrined and silent from behind the counter.
The father returned with his bag of Starbucks and began to recount to anyone listening how he had been bitten that morning while feeding the rodent a blueberry. "Blood everywhere!" he announced. "Lots a blood!" The guinea pig went back in the stroller and out the door they went. Just in time as the old man in the wheelchair was about to develop carpel tunnel from his wild gesticulations. A young woman walked by with her coffee and declared loudly " THAT is so unsanitary!"
A waiter approached with a wet towel and began to swab down the table. Connie approached him and asked if this was a common occurrence. "Well no, but we didn't want to embarrass the little girl. Plus with the laws in the state of Maine, we couldn't tell them not to bring it into the restaurant." "What law?" Connie asked. "The Service Animal Law. Stroking the animal keeps the little girls ADHD under control. Keeps her calm... I love working at this location. You see it all. Never a dull moment."
Portland is so different today from the days of my youth. It has become a mecca for the poor and disenfranchised, for the unemployed, homeless and the disabled and for refugees from around the globe. The levels of social assistance and accommodation are ever increasing and I wonder how long the city will be able to continue on this track. But that aside, it is a fascinating place with interesting people where the material for a short story presents itself at every turn, at every corner, a place where you can experience new experiences and learn new, never considered things. For example, today we learned about "Service Rodents".
Who has more fun than people?
Marcy's Diner was also swamped and we continued on up the hill in the busy streets of the old historic city to Starbucks. The number of severely disabled people on the street was striking. People on crutches and in wheelchairs navigating their way along the rough brick and cobblestone. Stumbling old men in alcoholic fogs shuffling towards the open door of Mathew's Tavern on Free Street, the oldest working man's bar in the city. Homeless people with shopping carts and with signs working the corners for handouts. The display of tattoos was also striking. The public display of skin art was ubiquitous.
We waited in line at Starbucks behind a mute, wheelchair bound old man with his male Somali caregiver as they ordered their coffee. The old man gestured wildly, pointing and signing his order, repeatedly touching his face and waving his arms, making loud, excited bellows and squawks. He smiled broadly, rapidly maneuvering his chair with his feet as his caregiver carried their coffee to a table. We followed suit and took a table in the sun just beside them.
I watched the toothless, tattooed man in a white wife-beater tee-shirt cross the street with a 5 year old little girl in tow. He wore gold chains around his neck and a backwards baseball cap. She wore a long, dirty blonde ponytail and pushed a small baby stroller. They entered the restaurant and she smiled proudly displaying her missing front teeth as she approached the old man in the wheelchair. He glanced into the baby stroller and began to gesture frantically, pointing and stroking his chin.
The father sat the child at a table beside us and went to the counter to order. The little girl reached into the stroller and lifted a small furry object onto the table. I assumed it was a stuffed animal until it began wheeking and chirping whereupon she began feeding it pea pods. She looked proudly around the room and announced, "You can pat him if you want." I reached over and stroked the hairy guinea pig. "What's his name?" I asked. 'Shaggy", she said. An old man with bleary eyes, white hair and no socks stood behind her and observed for a long moment. I mean it's not every day you see a guinea pig on a table in Starbucks. The Starbucks crew watched chagrined and silent from behind the counter.
The father returned with his bag of Starbucks and began to recount to anyone listening how he had been bitten that morning while feeding the rodent a blueberry. "Blood everywhere!" he announced. "Lots a blood!" The guinea pig went back in the stroller and out the door they went. Just in time as the old man in the wheelchair was about to develop carpel tunnel from his wild gesticulations. A young woman walked by with her coffee and declared loudly " THAT is so unsanitary!"
A waiter approached with a wet towel and began to swab down the table. Connie approached him and asked if this was a common occurrence. "Well no, but we didn't want to embarrass the little girl. Plus with the laws in the state of Maine, we couldn't tell them not to bring it into the restaurant." "What law?" Connie asked. "The Service Animal Law. Stroking the animal keeps the little girls ADHD under control. Keeps her calm... I love working at this location. You see it all. Never a dull moment."
Portland is so different today from the days of my youth. It has become a mecca for the poor and disenfranchised, for the unemployed, homeless and the disabled and for refugees from around the globe. The levels of social assistance and accommodation are ever increasing and I wonder how long the city will be able to continue on this track. But that aside, it is a fascinating place with interesting people where the material for a short story presents itself at every turn, at every corner, a place where you can experience new experiences and learn new, never considered things. For example, today we learned about "Service Rodents".
Who has more fun than people?
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