Wood Village

I sigh as cram my wide feet into my beaten up sneakers, and survey my selection of coats. The Oregon winter can belch out any weather condition within a given day. This makes the task of choosing the correct coat a science of calculating temperature, precipitation, and wind speed. Thankfully, American companies, such as Northface and Columbia are there to remove the guesswork with a dizzying array of provocatively named color coordinated jackets. Swaddled in the synthetic fiber I feel all variables are accounted for, even barometric pressure and dew point. I gage the level of grayness outside and choose an appropriate color. Today I choose "Dark Tundra" because it's the only thing more barren and gray than the Oregon sky. I grope my left buttock for my wallet. Check. My front right thigh for my cell phone. Check. I quietly exit the house and lock the door behind me. I take a moment to reflect on the weather. Perhaps I should of put on my “Papaya” windproof fleece. It's another Tuesday, and I'm going to Wood Village.
If I am to be spending any length of time in a location I would prefer to know a little background. This research project brought me to the woefully drab home page of Wood Village. The words on the site contain no self worth. Even the Chamber of Commerce admits its citizenry is better served by its neighbors. Wood Village is an unimpressive town with an equally unimpressive history. It was built as a company town for Reynolds Aluminum in 1942, and incorporated in 1951. The Reynolds plant is closed, and has been for some time. The town is a concrete stain of a community on the southern bank of I-84, wedged between East Portland and Troutdale. One small interesting detail is that despite its name and a population of 2,900, Wood Village is classified as a city. It also has a park.

I motor through two of three lighted intersections in this “village” and pull into the Multnomah County animal shelter. Since the beginning of December our temperamental cat, Whiskey, ran away from our abode. Sadly, he has not chosen to return. This has spurred an extended campaign of feline finding through bitterest winter weather Portland has experienced in the last decade. Losing a pet is an experience that runs you through an emotional gambit. Angered at his audacity to run away. Tentative hope that he'll make his way back in the next few days. Depressed that he has not returned in hoped for time line. Resigned that he'll never make it back. Seeing as this is one of many trips to Wood Village I'm at the last stage.

I walk into the malformed public building and begin searching the bulletin board for a few key words: American Shorthair orange/white neutered male cat. There's only one orange/white cat, but it's female. Next depressing task is to go over a small black binder containing information on DOAs...dead on arrivals. Nothing here. I stand in line to ask the staff about recent arrivals. The assorted sounds of animals and humans assault me as I watch the G.E.D. office staff struggle with basic requests. It's too warm in here with my jacket on, and I can feel an unpleasant dampness growing in the small of my back. Irritated with the wait I begin to fidget with my phone. The staffers and customers are shouting through the thick glass barrier that separates them. I pondered on the necessity of the bullet proof Lucite. While I was mulling this over it was my turn to slur words through the barrier asking about recent arrivals. Not willing to accept the responsibility of being wrong the staffer turns to her coworkers. The staff speak quickly over a casting of chicken bones to dredge up the answer to my inquiry. Reassured by the group's decision, she returns to me with a smile to tell me that no cat fitting that description has come in. A frustrating answer to get based on the amount of time it took, despite the smile. I fumble for my keys and make my way out of the shelter.

The time at the shelter took too long and I was more frustrated than usual. To ease my emotional state I decided to reward myself with a lunch out on the town...I mean city. Thankfully this little city has delectable spread of restaurants...a Quizno's, Taco Del Mar, and Yazzi's. My general distrust of fish tacos and Greek truck stops greatly reduced my choices. American food chains always appeal to my inner economist because they deliver an expectation. They don't create ostentatious meals that challenge my taste buds or cooking ability. They promise a consistent experience of mediocrity from coast to coast within minutes of ordering. I made my way to Quizno's. I ordered a sandwich meal combo (#5) for $6.99, which was made by a nonplussed crew of high schoolers. As I gaze at the rivulets on the window I count my cadence of bites. Two flatbread sandwiches, 5 bites a piece. Chips, 11 bites. Soda, 15 standard gulps. Approximately $0.19 per mouth full. More expensive than I wanted, but it delivered the expectation. On gulp #7 I look past the asphalt wasteland to Yazzi's Bar & Grill and wonder if I missed out on Wood Village's only local eatery. The design of the building, and a classy sign using the 'Y' as a martini glass reminisces of a happier time in 1983. I conjured images of worn booths made of cracked vinyl, outdated carpet far from the original color, despondent staff, and a film of grease from their fry-a-lator which has been running since opening day. Perhaps I have not missed a thing. I complete my meal in order of chips, sandwiches, and soda. I refill my soda and leave.

The route back always seems to take less time. It may be the increase in traffic into Portland that produces an illusion of rush or my desire to leave. Wood Village has concentrated all the emotions of a lost pet owner in the span of an hour. Anger that I have to go all the way to Wood Village. Tentative hope that I may find Whiskey out there. Depressed when he's not there. Resigned to come back to Wood Village next Tuesday. In either case it's Tuesday and I went to Wood Village.