Being from Vancouver, Washington, we know our place in the world: a distant second fiddle to Portland, which plays second fiddle to Seattle, which plays second fiddle to Vancouver, BC, which plays second fiddle to San Francisco. However, we can claim a mighty superiority over Amboy, Washougal, and Vernonia.
However, it did not occur to us how little we matter to the true Pearls of Portland. But we have had our eyes de-closed for us by a twenty-something hipster as something of a public service, I suppose.
Monday, in an attempt to gain some culture, we crossed the river to Portland, where all the culture lives. Kind of like yogurt. We were browsing in a trendy Pearl outpost (we could tell by the teeny-tiny size of the beige-on-brown sign) when we had this conversation with a shopkeeper:
Hipster Shopkeeper: So where're you guys from?
HS: Really? Cool. I should get up there more often.
Me (jokingly): You kind of need a reason to go. It's not much of a destination.
HS: Oh, but there's great skiing up there.
Drew: Ah, you mean Vancouver, B.C. We're from Vancouver, Washington.
Me (helpfully): You know, right across the river...
HS: Oh, yeah. So, were you guys affected a lot from the highway shutdown?
(Here we both cock our heads like dogs hearing a funny sound, then realize that he is talking about the I-5 flooding 100 miles north of us in Chehalis. Hipster Shopkeeper apparently has no idea that there is a city named Vancouver directly across the Columbia River from where he is living.)
Drew: Um, no.