At this point in this blog post, you've probably noticed how snotty I'm being about my neighborhood. Welcome to Wichita! It's what we do here. No self-respecting Wichitan can go for long without denigrating the other parts of the city where the rest of the unfortunates live. This is particularly true of the Great Eastside-Westside Debate (GEWD). It's said that the west side has an inferiority complex. This makes sense, since they have much to feel inferior about. For years, GEWD has been the number one talking point for your average citizen of Doo-Dah (one of several self-inflicted nicknames for our lovely burgh).
Growing up, I was vaguely aware that left of downtown there was another city, one much more unsavory than our own. I knew that in the wilds of west Wichita you could find all kinds of strange and exotic creatures. Besides that, you could also go to the zoo! Of course, I was raised to care for the less fortunate, so we would always participate in the sponsorship of west-siders. I still remember the fundraising letters: "For only $1 a day, you could help bring culture to the rubes..."
Ever since they got their first restaurant back in the late 1990s, the west side began to have illusions of grandeur. Children were taught book-learnin', roads were paved, and for the first time, we took down the barricades and let them come visit the east side. Packs of mangy children ravaged Towne East Mall for a time. But once law and order were restored, we were able to introduce simple cultural advances to the west side: shirts with sleeves, silverware, and car tires. Previously, the automobile had been thought of as some sort of lawn decoration, forever suspended on square blocks.
Nowadays, a west-sider is almost like a regular person. The English language has caught on to the extent that most west-side children can no longer understand basic Delano. The grunts and whistles of their ancestors are just strange sounds to them. On any given day, the distinctive west-side accent can be heard from Bradley Fair to Beech Aircraft. Sure, there are those who don't approve of the guest-worker program. But if we don't let them come over here legally, they'll just swim across the Arkansas River and work illegally in western-wear stores and bait shops. No, it's better to have an orderly process.
I'm just glad we can all be rational about this. ;-)
I appreciate your shrewd sociological analysis, which is spot on. I find myself in a similar predicament, although my version of Westsiders in this story are Augustanians. Being a citizen of Andover, you are consistently assumed to be a snob, although I've yet to meet any true, blue-blooded WASP snobs in town (probably because we just all are). Emily's family is always trying to convince us to move to Augusta, but I'm just not sure what the benefits of being so far removed from civilization would be? I kid, I kid, the Westside and Augusta are wonderful areas, but why all the hate for those in our more prestigious zip codes? It almost reminds me of when I tell a meathead what I do for a living and he proudly proclaims that he hasn't read a book since he graduated from high school. I call it reverse snobbery, and it is a plague on our great city. P.S. Didn't you and Brendan attend South High? I can understand why you wouldn't mention that in a post, but it does explain a lot. We all know you're a Southsider at heart Tim, and for that you should bear no shame.
ReplyDeletePlease take back that slur about me being a South Titan. I was a Southeast Buffalo, which back in those days, was the place to be. Though some might say that Emily's Augusta (Disgusta is the nickname I believe) roots darken your blue-blood, I say "fooey". It just means your children will have an exotic heritage. There's nothing wrong with a mixed marriage. As for Andoverians being snobs, I will just point out that every time I've been at your house you've offered me foie gras and complained about "the help".
ReplyDelete