A Letter to Philadelphia

Dear Philadelphia,

  
Thank you.  You have officially made it impossible for me to shocked into silence or rage anymore.  It has been a long journey, taking me almost exactly 3 years to become completely desensitized to the nonsense and insanity that is the experience of living within the city limits.  Like the Borg, resistance has been futile and I resign myself to doing all the things that make no sense.

Sincerely,
April



I have thought many times of writing a letter to someone in city government, or the newspaper.  And then I realized they are all in the same boat as I am.  Sure, some people escape to the suburbs, but not all of us have the stamina to take the expressway to work every morning.  We are trapped in our rowhouses, forced into the belief that the city has turned everything around.  Black is white, day is night, etc, etc...nothing here makes sense anymore, and I am helpless to fight it.

Example 1: The taxes.

I am a democrat.  I love social programs.  I am a teacher.  I think that we should spend money on public schools.  I don't mind paying my fair share so that programs for children, the elderly, the infirm, and those less fortunate can continue.  But REALLY?  We have the highest sales tax in the state (8%), the city is assessing all the properties to boost the tax revenue  they can collect, and they charge a 20% parking tax in the garages!!!!  I


Example 2: The streets.

One time, I remember thinking that Streets of Philadelphia by Bruce Springsteen was one of the most beautiful songs I'd ever heard.  Then I moved here, and POOF, romance gone.  Suddenly I knew why The Boss was bruised and battered and why his legs felt like stone.  Driving in this city is full contact affair.  I once had someone honk, pass me on the right, during a RED LIGHT!!! (gosh, I'm not sure why I didn't think to go through it instead of waiting like some sucker)  There are also the four wheelers and dirt bikes that are exactly "street legal" zipping beside cars and the wrong way on one way street.  I wonder if the inspiration for the Fast and Furious franchise came out of some poor guy's waking nightmare of driving on Front Street under the EL and praying that he'd make it out alive.

Example 3: The sidewalks and empty lots

There is trash everywhere.  My garbage men somehow make more trash.  It seems as though the discarded cartons of Arctic Chill iced tea and the wrappers from flaming hot Cheetos are procreating to create street pizza and debris of soft pretzels and cheese steaks.  Stuffed into the grates of the sewer, and overflowing from any open can there is a soft buzz of giant flies and piles and piles and piles of garbage.  Every week we put out trash to be collected, only to wake up to a swirling eddy of wrappers and cast offs.  It makes no sense -- we as a people can't possibly produce all the trash that I see.  Soon we will be waist deep in detritus, and the city will continue to pay sanitation workers to create more.

But today the prize for most ridiculous goes to the bill that came in the mail from the City's Department of Finance.  I knew upon reading it I should have been incensed, I should have railed against the idea of a city charging me to prevent crime in my home (I would assume that it would make it easier for police, me actually deterring crime using my own money and resources), and doing it ANNUALLY!  But instead of rage and fury I felt resignation, and that's when I knew that maybe the Hangover 2 was onto something -- Philly has me now.