This is a twist.

A twist of lemon.

I can still enjoy a nice martini at the best restaurant in Iowa, but I have become ruined for many middle-class pleasures. Like a two-night get-away in Iowa.

Before I left, I told Mr Furniture I was going with my sister to Decorah, Iowa.

"Iowa?" he said.

"Well, I am white, Mr. Furniture."

He cocked his head at me. "You'll blend right in," he said.

And OMG, did I ever. The area was settled by Norwegians, and the racial makeup of this small town (8,000 people) is 95% white. I saw one––count 'em, one––person who was not white. They were working at a coffee shop, and I'd bet they were a student at nearby Luther College, a private Lutheran college.

None of this would bother me––it's the history––except that Decorah has become a magnet for rich people from California. They relocate there to escape climate change and inflation. On every other corner is a yoga studio or an acupuncture clinic. In between are a yarn store, an indie bookshop with a Black History Month display, an organic food co-op, and the like. Lots of beautiful old houses have been turned into bed-and-breakfasts.
The local library has a TikTok account, the Marketing Manager told me when we stopped in. The local library has a Marketing Manager.

Local Iowans push back with a shop called Club 45 with window displays of books and banners about the glories of our 45th president. A billboard near town shows pictures of Biden and Harris labeled DUMB and DUMBER. (Actually, Biden gets the "dumber" caption.) The local Fareway grocery store, where many customers were wearing feed caps, carries "chicken lollipops" at the meat counter––individual drumsticks (raw) wrapped in bacon, $1.99 lb.
I wish I'd bought one to cook in our airBnb.

Sister (below, left, in red glasses), who had kindly invited me on this trip and paid for our accommodations, loves the place and has been three times. "I want to learn rosemaling," she said (decorative Norwegian folk painting).

The social dissonance made my head spin. (My head, above, right ^) It was popping out thoughts such as, "This would make a good setting for a post-apocalyptic farce".
(Hm. Not a bad idea for a short story.)

On the way home, we fought about whether you tip the mechanic who checks your tire pressure for free, which sister had stopped and had done on the way out of town.
"You should have tipped that guy," I said.

Sister said, you don't tip for that service.

"It is always appropriate to at least offer to pay someone for their work," I said. (Did I quote scripture?* I did not! A win for my self-restraint. But also not, because I just knew it wouldn't carry any weight with her.)

We yelled at each other for a while, and then we agreed to disagree (i.e., to agree that the other one was wrong).
Two sisters diverged on an Iowan road.

The Turmeric Kombucha Moment

But really. I slipped over some line a ways back--I'd been approaching the event horizon for a long time, but working for five years in the armpit of the city (plus Covid, plus George Floyd), I became unfit, unable, to reenter the middle-class I came from.
I mean, I can pass––I can order a martini with a twist.
And--crucially--I am still automatically granted the benefits of my class.
But my head won't fit. It's like a champagne cork: once it's expanded, it's not going back in the bottle.
It's the weirdest feeling, becoming aware of that.

Ass't Man (white, college educated, LP record-collecting nerd) and I talk about it. His jolt came when he went to the wedding of a college friend last summer and felt socially woozy when people were complaining that the caterers had not supplied enough turmeric kombucha. "I have a harder and harder time spending time with my old friends," he says.

For me the challenge is thereafter not to slip into disgust or dismay. People are people. I don't want to get all judgy judgy--though I do, and that is a temptation because feeling superior delivers more dopamine per gram than chocolate. But it's a lie, even if it makes you feel better.

The trick, in spiritual terms, is to see people psychedelically--to love (not like) them all. . . And that is SOME trick, at which I am currently failing. I want to be one of those people who can meet anyone, anywhere. Ha! I'm so not there.

Note to self: In the meantime, don't vacation in Decorah. (Also, look for work-arounds, like, carry cash, and tip the mechanic yourself.)

Tip: Don't fool yourself.

_________________

*“The worker is worthy of his wages [deserves fair compensation].”  ––1 Timothy 5:18