To be upfront, I have never lived in a city. But it’s obvious to me that there are some significant drawbacks to small towns. For one, a small town is monotonous. This factor is probably negligible if the resident in question really, really likes tradition, particularly specific, localized traditions. Or if they really like monotony. That would make sense.
Another reason someone may not question small towns is if they, in fact, look like all the other residents. I wouldn’t know. To be honest, this seems like something a person would not notice at all unless they don’t resemble the typical demographic. Say, for example, the town is proudly one main ethnicity, excepting three or four families. We’re talking about a genuinely small minority. Moreover, the townspeople are a really exclusionary bunch. They consistently shine blue porch lights, to demonstrate a “Police Lives Matter” affinity, and display pro-Trump signs, which they’re free to do. But let’s look at one household which does neither. Say that this family packs up the car to take the son to college and begins an unnecessarily long drive from Massachusetts to DC. The family stops somewhere in Delaware at a rest stop.
At this point, we need some background information. This family lives on a relatively quiet street with a black and white dog that only hops around on three of its four legs (the vet is unsure why this is the case). Also, the family is black. That’s all.
We return to the rest stop, five state lines from home. Another car pulls up next to the family, and a man gets out. The father gets out to greet the other man, after noticing a familiar sticker on the adjacent car.
“Well, look at that!” says the second man. “Some neighbors.”
And then:
“Oh I know exactly who you are,” says the second man. “You’re that family. In the gray house. There’s a messed up little black-and-white dog. No porch light. Oh yeah, we all know who you are.”
Let’s interrogate this. Would we call that racism? Maybe not on its own, but this wasn’t on its own.
Here are some other unsettling circumstances which took place within the community:
The daughter consistently feels followed in stores. If she picks up any item, the cashier runs from behind the register to “keep it behind the counter for her.” The son doesn’t walk alone at night (there is a high possibility the cops will be called on him for “casing” the neighborhood). A welcoming committee told the mother that the town would “finally see some real diversity besides the Jews—who are lovely, of course.” The father was called a racist expletive while driving to work.
If there’s a primary takeaway from these anecdotes, it’s probably that the family moved to the wrong small town. Secondarily, the family did not conduct enough research on the town before moving. But the real situation is that if you asked any person on the street, they would wholeheartedly tell you there is nothing wrong with the community. They are welcoming! There is, in fact, a committee for that express purpose! Moreover, there’s a man of color who bakes artisan bread in a barn down the street, and everyone loves Thomas. Clearly there is nothing wrong. How dare you insinuate otherwise?
The town has so much to offer. If you feel like a coffee while in town, you can head to either coffee shop (there are two). You can visit Marylou’s Coffee, an all-pink monstrosity which is best described as “Hooters but make it coffee.” The shop recently underwent a revolution, and employees no longer have to wear the revealing uniforms which were on full display from both the counter and the tilted mirror behind them. The mirror is still in place. Also, the shop only hires local blonde high-school girls to dispense coffee from lukewarm tureens. The main customers are middle-aged bachelors, which makes sense, because the coffee is really not the main draw. It comes in roasts like “Banana Nut Cream” or “Blueberry Cinnamon Crumble,” which are actual rotating flavors (I just checked the website). If you’re not in the mood for the patriarchy, one can head to The Lucky Finn, a legitimate coffee shop, where a genuinely good macchiato is offered but also where, if you happen to be a minority, you will be stared at and forced to drink the macchiato outside, because suddenly all the seats are filled.
If the black-and-white dog with the stump leg needs to be walked, there are some nice walking trails. For the most part you are perfectly safe here, unless you happen to be the father, a large black man, who is accompanying an unleashed dog and walking alone in the woods, liable to frighten other trailgoers accompanied by their leashed, Labrador-retriever mixes. You might also be unsafe if, like the mother, you decide that the dog must be walked at all costs, never mind that there is a madman hiding in the woods with an automatic rifle and Swat members crouched at the trailhead. This last example, as far as I can tell, is not racial but is still problematic.
Perhaps you like small towns. Perhaps you like the feeling of waking up to a community that looks just like you or thinks just like you. Maybe you like the safety of it, notwithstanding forest shooters or the need to wear orange during fall hikes so that hunters don’t confuse you for a deer. You might even enjoy a steaming pink cup of Banana Nut Cream coffee, so good on you. If, for some unthinkable reason, you do not, it is probably because you are permanently rendered an outsider. You may not think like the neighbors, even if you look like them, and I’m sure this is a difficult situation. But to neither think like nor look like the neighbors can be a truly terrible circumstance. I personally think satire is really just defamiliarized nonfiction, in an effort to raise awareness. But, in case it isn’t obvious, I should point out that nothing I’ve written here is fiction. Take a look at what you take for granted.