At 38 and in a somewhat intentional bachelorhood after powerful, romantic relationships that ended slowly and grimly to send me to a therapist’s couch, I think I’m starting to see a small beam of clarity. I see now that love is fleeting and painful and compounds into routine and resentments. So with some intentional thinking, maybe I can cash in these memories because I’m CERTAINLY not using them. So to the universe I say, let’s take these chips and trade them straight up for a friendship with a Grizzly bear.
This is such an easy trade. Like, let’s take that time one girlfriend convinced me to move to New York City following a year of a long-distance relationship only to find out my first day in town that I was the other guy to her actual five-year relationship. Let’s take those 18 months that followed, listening to Dirty Work by Steely Dan on a loop and not eating. Let’s replace that with a 1200 lb grunting apex predator knocking on my screen door where we go off looking for pies cooling on window sills.
By the way, what do you think of the name “Mr. President”? It’s fun, right? Think of all the fun things you could say.
“Mr. President! Where did you get that deer carcass?”
“Mr. President! When has mauling solved anything?”
“I’m sorry. I’m all out of pork kidneys Mr. President”
Come to think of it, let’s give this boy a tie. After all, he’s the president.
Of course, I understand the inherent risks of such a friendship. After all, grizzly bears are wild creatures, unpredictable in their actions and instincts. They can turn on a dime. But you know who else acts like that? Partners with CPTSD. And last I checked, bears don’t drink in the shower after their mother calls.
I can see Mr. President so clearly now. We’re seated next to each other by a river, smelling the sweet grass and salt. Zen silence and a chilling breeze. He’s holding his salmon. I have my hot coffee. Neither of us wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. Neither of us asking the other “Is this enough? Am I enough?” Just the sound of the river passing by. And the deep snuffles of the bear, trying to find the next picnic to maul.
Ruth-Anne’s no-nonsense attitude and maternal warmth would endear her to Sub Pop, but her music would likely be too wholesome for the label’s grunge aesthetic. She’d be better suited to the coffeehouse circuit, singing heartfelt ballads about community and friendship.
Holling’s rugged charm and life experience could earn him a spot on Sub Pop, but his music would lean more towards traditional folk, with songs about love lost and the wisdom gained from decades of living in the wilderness. He would do better on a label like Topic Records.
With his eclectic taste in music and penchant for philosophical musings, one might think Chris would be Sub Pop’s poster child. However, even after he inundated Sub Pop with a mountain of demo tapes, he would swiftly be sniffed out as a poser. He would fit better in one of the “post-grunge” bands like LIVE or Candlebox when major labels went on a feeding frenzy signing bands and the genre got bloated.
Shelly’s bubbly personality and love for all things kitsch would land her a gig on Sub Pop, but she’d likely be relegated to novelty songs about moose burgers and quirky small-town life played on a ukulele. When her music career floundered, she would pivot to acting in films directed by the likes of Wim Wenders and Gus Van Sant.
Maurice’s entrepreneurial spirit and determination get him a deal in no time, but his music would be more like corporate rock, complete with ballads about rugged Alaskan landscapes and the power of capitalism. His album would tank but he would use his connections to start managing other Sub Pop bands only to disappear with all their money.
Joel’s neurotic tendencies might not scream rock star, but his fish-out-of-water experiences in Cicely could inspire some poignant indie songs. Think acoustic ballads being a New Yorker in Alaska. His music wouldn’t do well at the time and he would go back to being a doctor in Seattle. However, he would be rediscovered in the early 2000s and become a talking head for countless documentaries about music in the 1990s.
Maggie’s tough exterior and love for the outdoors might make her seem like a good fit for Sub Pop, but her music would probably be too earnest and mainstream for the label’s taste. Her anger would soon volcano, leading to a fallout with the label. She would return fronting a Riot Grrl band on the Kill Rock Stars label. They would have one massive hit but struggle to make waves again. She would use her fame as a one-hit wonder to push for equality for female musicians.
Marilyn’s enigmatic presence and deep connection to her Native American heritage, would likely find herself amid Cicely’s grunge scene. However, her reserved nature and mysterious aura might make her a bit of an outlier in the Sub Pop world. While she might not be the most obvious candidate for a Sub Pop signing, her introspective lyrics and haunting melodies could certainly find a niche audience within the label’s diverse roster.
Ed’s quirky personality and love for Native American culture would make him a cult favorite on Sub Pop. He’d blend traditional drumming with distorted guitar riffs, creating a sound that’s both mystical and grungy. He would become one of the giant stars of the grunge scene with his name listed among Cobain, Cornell, and Vedder. However, his naivety would allow him to become taken advantage of and the musician lifestyle would quickly catch up with him. He would flame out in spectacular, public fashion only to retreat back to Cicely and never make public appearances again. Until 2012 when he would release an acoustic album and do a single performance at Riot Fest.
The damn tiny circular pipes here never allow enough space for catching up on all of your work. You try to bring your laptop up, but there’s just never enough room. Plus, people whisper about the swaying air ducts. Better lay low until the staff closes. Then, you are the king of the Coffee Bean.
Shoddy standardized air ducts that promise more than they deliver. Jagged interiors, with thick bordered separations and rivets that jut into your thighs while trying to read the collected stories of Anton Chekhov. However, placement is often great for eavesdropping on normies.
Ah, the legendary Portland brand. The rich aromas waft into the air ducts, but the crawl space is a bit tighter than other chains. That’s the hand-made, twee Portland way. Aesthetics over practicality. Be sure to don your facial piercings and develop a love of vinyl before hiding in this ductwork.
Such overrated air ducts, try to avoid them at all costs. Clearly installed by Ductmate Industries (you can tell by the sealant). Hilarious watching customers take out a mortgage to buy a costly iced coffee. Plus, it is always freezing inside. The constant AC means you can barely keep the papers down while scribbling your manifesto.
Cold winters and muggy summers make for long uncomfortable stretches in these East Coast vents. You better love the smell of hoagies. You’ll be going home to your family with a thick sandwich stench, if you can pop the vent off or get past the nest of spiders. This seems to be a job by Sheet Metal Connectors, which you recognize from your stalking days because they do commercial AND residential installations.
Difficult to crawl through these air ducts discreetly, most opting for the circular tunnel style. Corners are your friend but curves mean your sweaty palms just slide on each push forward, the difficulty of keeping the Zippo lit while crawling. Shimmy to the vent for breathing holes. Maybe whisper to an employee asking to sneak you one of their famous iced coffees.
The humidity of New Orleans is enough to keep your apparel in these vents minimal: shorts, a small tee, occasionally just your birthday suit as you catch up on emails in this warm, compressed space. Not great for your health owing to the dust, cramped neck posture and general complete lack of light.
Costa uses Ductmate Industries branded shafts, which you actually prefer (ideally the larger models). This seems to be a newer installation so be sure to stretch first so you can read Rick Rubin’s memoir next to the scant light slats at either end. Ignore the stale stench of uninspired pastries.
The smell of McDonald’s is tempting for a half hour, until the constant odor of grease and preservatives waft into your personal space. Crawl out and try to avoid a lawsuit after absolutely horrifying an entire family in the bathroom.
Functional, no-frills air ducts. Sure, they can ventilate the entire store, but this HVAC system is old and shockingly out of date. You’re mostly covered within their stucco ceiling, which is definitely a plus for privacy, but also means you’re operating in complete darkness. Just bring a headlamp, then you should then be all set for some light breaking and entering.
Unfortunately most of the HVAC system here is connected, all going to a central room that is often locked. This forces you to be crafty in Peet’s, risky since you’re actually a fan of this chain and don’t want to be banned. Try to find your “air vent hookup” with an employee. Use coded language about HVAC repair to let them know you’re “on the level,” or just start wearing Carhartt-branded clothes.
The intricate labyrinthine maze of shafts make this air duct system impossible to navigate. Of course this was a Titus HVAC job, you could’ve guessed that with your eyes closed. You’re a fan of the pastries here, so try to find space above the oven (if you can even find it). Keep the volume down as you catch up on Shogun, and throw quarters into the tip jar from above.
Unfortunately the nearest location has a ventilation system that is always breaking, which means you keep encountering their HVAC repair guy. Occasionally a head pokes up, asking what you’re doing hiding in the air vents. But you’ve become friends with Jeff, occasionally catching up over MMA (his interest) or taxidermy antiquing (your interest). Much better conversation than the dead rats you usually find.
These convenience stores offer serviceable coffee to go in giant plastic jugs. Luckily there are 7-Elevens all over, most with a similar layout, so you’re able to navigate the entire duct system with relative ease. The entire ductwork job was installed by DuctSox, one of your favorites in the HVAC racket. Plus, this place indulges two of your ultimate vices: scratchers and taquitos. Find your favorite corner of the jointed duct, and catch up on the latest Danielle Steel!
A compact space unwelcoming for long bouts of time hiding in their air conditioning system, clearly manufactured by Lindab (you’re a big fan of their metal fittings). This place has solid breakfast burritos, maybe make one in the after-hours. Be sure to clean up for the morning staff, even though you’ve already been caught on security cameras.
These state of the art Nordfab air ducts result in the most comfortable, luxurious experience in your squatting life. Relax your spine in privacy and meditate, knowing all of the camping gear you brought allows you to spend the entire weekend here. Peeing in a mason jar, just like a real caribou in the wild!
You can straight-up get weird in this ductwork. Groove around the pre-insulated panels, leave sweaty imprints. The music is played so loud here so that there’s no way of creating a distraction. Plus you’re pretty sure this was a Kingspan-manufactured installation, so you can shimmy all night in these ducts and snack on stale baked goods! Be careful in the airport locations, best to have an inside hookup for premium air duct access.
Honestly, your favorite air ducts to hide in. Maybe it was the trips here with your father before he left. Maybe it’s the sugary aroma wafting out the door. Either way, you nearly fall into a comatose state as the glaze and cream wafts up into your nostrils. Let the sugar rush wave over you, murmur in bliss through the vents. Make employees think the store is haunted.
The unforgiving brick keeps the interiors around the ducts cool. You feel stylish inside this joint, opting to wear your bifocals and quill pen, despite no one able to see you. It is La Colombe, after all. You only read or write there to be seen. The dude in the flannel below you who looks like he has dedicated his life to Kurt Vonnegut knows what you’re talking about.
Ooh la la! Très chic! For when you want that high-class coffee feel, sneak into the air ducts of Intelligentsia. Even the air ducts are above you, in all aspects, including socially. This is finely-crafted, pretentious industrial construction at its finest. At least you can feel superior to everyone else while here at Intelligentsia, hiding alone, in the dark, in the ceiling. Who’s the “loser” now, dad?!