Learning how to be a state

When we were in the early stages of planning our move, one of my buddies in Cleveland put me in touch with one of her friends, who years earlier, had moved with his partner from Cuyahoga County to Portland, Oregon. Excitedly, I began exchanging emails with this gentleman. He offered lots of great tips and information about relocating to this region. At one point, he said, "There will be things that'll make you think, Oregon is still learning how to be a real state."

That gave me pause. A real state? Like, did the Pony Express still operate in the Northwest? Did Wyatt Earp hang bandits without going through due process? Were disagreements still settled by duels at high noon in the main square?  I asked, "So, like, what kinds of things will make me think this?"

He was all, just, "Oh, you'll know when you experience it."

So, without further ado:

• You cannot pump your own gas in Oregon.  Easterners might be familiar with this relic of a behavior because New Jersey also forbids self-serve. However, I'd always just assumed that it was a fire hazard in Jersey 'cause of all the Aqua Net. Anyway, in all the other forty-eight states, including my beloved Ohio, a driver can pump her own gas. This allows one to cruise into the gas station before the morning commute, spend approximately 180 seconds filling the tank, and cruise into work on time. Is this possible in Oregon?  No.  And do you know why? Because there is one crazed attendant running around, simultaneously pumping gas into twenty different cars, and then allowing the driver of each car to sit and wait while he asks all the other drivers if they want their damn receipt.
  
  Oregon must know something we don't, and I figured it must be something about the danger inherent to gas pumping. I recently asked two coworkers about the qualifications for a gas station pumper-guy job. Tongue in cheek, one of them replied, "The main qualification is at least one felony."  Wait, what? Pumping gas must be a highly rigorous career that requires intensive math and science skills; if not, hell, the general public could do it. Right?

• The DMV is closed on the weekend.  And after five o'clock in the afternoon.  And sometimes for a couple hours at lunch.  This might not be surprising to folks who live in less populated areas, but for us urbanites, this is strange. At least one BMV is open on Saturday, or open late in the middle of the week. Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw that our local DMV office was open only Monday through Friday, 8:00-5:00. "Certainly that can't be true in Portland, Land O'Massive Gridlock, where each driver has two cars," I thought. (Note: The traffic is so bad in Portland, I imagined that each car must've been towing another car behind it.) But naw man, it's true in Portland, too.  The state website said this schedule cuts costs. Coupla things, though: I still paid $200 for a mandatory two year registration (no, registering for a mere year was not an option). The driver's license is thinner than the library card I had in Cleveland. And lastly, I imagine five days of business costs the same amount regardless of what those particular five days are.  Why not, say, Tuesday through Saturday? Then the people who have jobs and can afford to pay for two year car registration wouldn't have to lose hours at work just to be able to drive to work legally.

• You have to pay for pop bottles.  My parents told me that back in the sixties, you'd have to pay for the privilege to drink Coca-Cola from the bottle: Pay a nickel for the bottle, return the bottle, get your nickel back, and the store washes and reuses the bottle for the next guy.  This made sense in 1965 when bottles were made of glass and recycling wasn't even a word. It makes no sense now, when recycling trucks arrive literally at my front door and cart away all my recyclable paper, plastic, glass, aluminum and steel waste. But Oregon still has a bottle deposit. Oregon, who runs television commercials lauding how they're all about renewable! and recycling!  There's no law against recycling the plastic bottles, of course, but as M said, "It's the principle of the thing." We're paying a nickel more in Oregon for a bottle of Coke than we would in Ohio. We deserve to get that nickel back. Even if it means wasting 50% of our pantry space with a massive box of bottles that will eventually earn us back half the cost of a latte.
  
• The entire eastern half of the state doesn't exist.  Seriously, look on a map. You'll see it there, of course, but look really closely. Look for bold or large place names (I am pretty sure there aren't any).
  
  If I were to exile myself from civilization, I think I could start by going to Eastern Oregon. "East of the Cascades" should be the name of a survivalist compound. "A hundred miles off I-5" is where the Witness Protection Program sends government informants. Gosh, even on a map of Amish Ohio, you'll still find some bigger, bolder town names. Amish Ohio, where they don't even have electricity.
  
  Somewhat related: There is an active secession movement in Southern Oregon (and Northern California) advocating the formation of a new state called Jefferson. Google it, it's fascinating stuff. Learning to be a state, indeed.

• Stop signs are lacking in about 76.23% of spots where there really needs to be a stop sign. I admit, this might be peculiar to the Medford area*, but there's a whole lotta yielding going on that... well, let's just say, it's all fun and games until you make a pretzel out of two cars (that aren't towing each other, PORTLAND). There are no yield signs, though, or stop signs, just little spots where you're like, "Oh hey, I should stop here because I would like to avoid becoming Flat Stanley today." I believe the lack of stop signs is to cut costs, but the state website will not confirm.
  
  *The acquaintance I mentioned at the beginning of this post did link me to an article from a Portland newspaper, which detailed a new traffic law in that area. Wait, no, it detailed the lack of a law. The gist was that bicyclist could just keep going through red lights. "No need to stop, fifty year old guy suddenly interested in your physical fitness. Just keep going and hope that those two cars towing each other won't barrel into your paunch."

Don't get me wrong: I dig it here. There are tons of things that Southern Oregon is doing way better than most places, like courtesy and friendliness, local pride, nature preservation, and promotion of outdoor activities. The region is in a drought, but it's being managed well enough that it doesn't impact daily life (and I suspect folks around here are generally pretty water-conscious, anyway). The city itself, despite some problems common to most cities, is quite safe. So no hate, Oregon -- just a little giggling in your general direction.