small-town working

So the town where I work in southern Michigan is one of those tiny towns. The only main thoroughfare is essentially a few restaurants and small businesses planted on the banks of one of the State Routes to Bigger Places. "Main Street" consists of two antique shops, a couple of churches, and a school. It's just a little too old-industrial to be quaint; a few abandoned factories are working hard at rusting to the ground along the railroad tracks. And yet it's charming.

I grew up in something like a small town, though it was far bigger than where I work. And being here every day, eating out and frequenting the antique shops, is bringing back to mind the hilarious things about small town life. South Bend living is more urban, compact and yet sprawling, and nearly everyone is and remains a stranger. But not here.

Last week I went to my favorite of the antique shops -- a junk shop, really, where there are things like old bedpans and oil cans (still half-full of oil) mixed in with the dressers and chairs, and everything is unpredictable and cheap -- and I was chatting with the owner, as I always do, and telling him about my apartment woes and my plans to move as soon as I find a decent place.

Then Tuesday as I placed my order at Subway, the girl behind the counter asked me, "Have you moved yet?"

Priceless.