white with foam

Viewed from the outside, the troubles at Seattle’s Department of Transportation seem petty, insular and, to one who likes his coffee strong and his institutions dysfunctional, sadly familiar. I am not one of those sheeple. In 2009, after the snowstorm shitstorm, I trusted that all the attention focused on their behavior would generate some valuable cleanup, or at least a few tacky baubles. So it brings me no joy to watch them work so hard to solidify their reputation for unreliability.

Because we live on the side of a steep hill, the two lanes of our street are separated by some significant altitude, and a median about thirty feet wide sits between them. Karyn and I call it the Grassy Knoll. It’s useful to us dog stewards, and serves as a community front yard; I see my neighbors there, and sometimes stop for a chat. Or I used to, anyway. This summer, the Grassy Knoll went uncared for and became seriously overgrown, and by late June the neighbors had stopped going, and I dreaded having to go bushwhacking every time I took Chauncey there for a pee. I’m sure it was no picnic for her, either, squatting there among brambles clear over her head. It was pretty obvious that the city needed to be alerted to the problem, so that they could bring out their big power mowers and be done with it.

Thus began a months-long Kafkaesque odyssey into the depths of bureaucratic convolution. Before our trip to the Peninsula, I would have rolled my eyes at such hyperbole. Even now, after the unanswered emails, the blown deadlines, and the near-miss where they actually did come out and mow an entirely different area half a block away; even now, I still believe that there are actual people over there at the DOT, fellow travelers with bills to pay and whatnot, and that this is not some cosmic joke I’m the butt of, but simply an expression of the same flagging sympathy with which I’ve been known to treat my own clients. Because anger and despair are too facile, particularly directed at governments and their representatives. What’s the point of getting your taxpayer dues if you have to be a dick about it?

The Roots: How I Got Over
Someone has to care.

Tags:   bureaucracy · Department of Transportation · mean streets of Queen AnneNo Comments