Single in Sandpoint: Scarlette sits ‘Those People’ down for a little talk

     OK, I’m just going to say it loud and clear, right here and right now: People need to un-bunch the panties that are firmly wedged between their cheeks and chill the hell out. 

    I’ve lived in Sandpoint for the vast majority of my life, and never, I say NEVER, has this town been so inundated with people who think their sh*t is rose-scented potpourri sent straight from Jesus Himself. I'm not sure who to blame this on the locals or transplants? One thing is for certain:  the whole town is percolating with assholes lately.

I'm probably as guilty as the next person, but here I go anyway...

     I will never understand how adults willingly move here and then spend the next five, 10, 20 years of their lives complaining about the “redneck country smallness” of Sandpoint. 

     It’s insulting, ridiculous and pointless.
     Not sure how to define “those” people? Well let me help you. Those People are the ones who constantly complain about the lack of interesting things to do, places to shop, etc. They never spend their money locally – due to the fact that Sandpoint is obviously too small to be competent at providing any sort of quality leisure activities. 

     Thanks to this attitude local businesses (even the good ones) suffer and close because they are unable to move inventory or attract a clientele large enough to pay the bills.

     Those People are also the ones who justify moving here because they are “outdoor enthusiasts” but can’t hang when they figure out they’ll have to shovel their own sidewalks and winter isn’t that cute after four or five months. (Though I’ll admit to personally hating winter more than razor burn.)
     Those People are the ones who blather on for hours about how their hairdresser, landlord, sex life, friends, food and  public restrooms were far superior in whatever “perfect” place they moved from. 

     To Those People I have to say this: It’s highly doubtful that you will ever have friends or a date, let alone a sex life, if you don’t stop complaining. Five minutes before you opened your mouth I wanted to be your friend, now I just want to run away because your negative attitude is flattening my cheap haircut. 

     Please don’t tell me that you have to live here. 

     Facts: There are other places on earth that you can work and make as much money as you do here, please tell the truth and say you’re just too lazy to look for work elsewhere. At least that would be respectably honest. Your family is probably sick of your complaining too, so if you moved here to be with them, you might want to rethink that. I’m sure that back in Perfectville they’ll welcome you home with open arms. I'm sorry the people here aren't what you expected, it sucks to be disappointed but its not a life sentence, you are your own warden.
     Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that the behavior of these Anti-Sandpointites is unprovoked. There are a lot of things locals could do to make it easier on the fresh-faced foreigners. The first would be to stop driving around with dead animals in the beds of our trucks. It’s scary and sad. I don't think there are many things freakier than staring into the eyes of a dead deer while ordering McDonalds. I should be used to it. But I'm not. I understand that one needs to transport their kill, but yuck OK, yuck.
     Also, maybe when you take your wife to Starbucks and start complaining about Barack Obama so loudly that the rest of the store has no choice but to listen to your racist bigotry, remember that the store you’re frequenting may not appreciate the loss of business they’re suffering due to your ignorance. 

     You give North Idaho a bad name and I’m embarrassed that we live in the same town. (Oh, and my 10-year-old daughter, who is half African-American, really enjoyed your choice words when referring to the president of the United States.) 

     And lastly, I’m not sure why construction takes so long in Sandpoint, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with an ordinance that states: Sandpoint road construction can only be performed during peak traffic times, at all major intersections.  

     I side with Those People when it comes to construction it takes longer here than anywhere else on earth, however – and I’m referring to Man in the Big Black Truck – there is no reason to flip off the construction flagger; she deserves a smoke break just as much as the next person.
     Whew, now that that’s out of my system, I’m going to end this column with a little tale. 

     I recently went to a doctor’s appointment in Spokane. Not because I’m a snob, but because we don’t have this particular specialist here in Sandpoint. We don’t have a lot of types of specialists here, that’s just the way it is. I knew this when I moved back here 4 years ago, and so I can't really complain can I?

     Now my Spokane doctor discussed many, many things with me that day, but he mentioned no less than six times that I wouldn’t be able get any tests done in Sandpoint because most of them require electricity, and since Sandpoint doesn’t have that yet... You get my point.
     Then he took me on a really cool anatomy adventure where he told me that “the ovum is the quiet sister of the testes.” I’m just going to let you digest that little tidbit.  

     Anyway, we got to the super fun part of the exam – where he was sticking a 15-inch Q-Tip straight into my soul – and he decided to start talking about how he’s thinking about buying a house out in Dover Bay. You know, just for a little vacation place. 

     He went on to say that there was no way he and his wife could permanently live in Sandpoint because of the fact that most people in Sandpoint drink domestic beer and there’s no Trader Joe's (OK, I might be exaggerating a bit there). 

     Anyway, I listened, because that’s what a half-naked person wrapped in a paper sheet does at the doctor. But it got me thinking: Does Sandpoint have an unfair stereotype, or do we deserve it?

Hoping that someday we get automobiles, the Internet and cell phones,

Scarlette Quille