Human Pigs

Today, I am catching a ferry to Blake Island. It was once the home of the Suquamish tribe. Historians say that it was the birthplace of Chief Sealth, for whom the city of Seattle was named.  It takes about two hours on the ferry to get to Blake Island. I made assumptions that there would be snacks on the ferry, but I was wrong. I see that there’s a menu. Peanuts are $2, so I asked the clerk for peanuts. He tells me that they’re out. “Wait one minute,” he says, then rushes to the back. He returns with two boxes full of snacks, but there are no peanuts. He does not say anything. He looks away and asks another person if they need help. I asked, “where is the peanuts?” “Oh,” he says, “I thought I told you. We are out.” I buy a bag of potato chips instead.

 

I arrive at Blake Island and walk to the longhouse. Patrons are giving away clams to people as they enter the longhouse. Inside there’s an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet. I am not why it felt strange to me having an all you can eat lunch buffet in a Native American longhouse. I tried eating, but I kept looking at the number of overweight people engaged in all you can eat experience. And it was somewhat abnormal. The heaping plates of food under the roof of a Native longhouse disgusted me. The experience was confusing and almost nightmarish. I needed to leave. I exited outside for a short hike, away from the madness. 

 

For the very first time in my life, I felt like a pig in a barn waiting for someone to say, “wake up.”

 

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