washashore wednesday

Eventually, we are hoping to introduce a new feature in which we profile one of the many washashores, who, like us, now call this strange and wonderful place home.

But before we kick off, I thought I'd take a minute to start to define this friendly term, since it's lingered so comfortably over there in the introduction corner for so long.

Wash-a-shores, as you might imagine, are people who have somehow ended up here on this island, despite having suffered the miserable and highly unforgivable misfortune of being born and raised somewhere else.

As you also might imagine, being a wash-a-shore is more often an accusation than something to identify with proudly. In fact, the only occasions on which I even consider the fact that I am, indeed, a wash-a-shore, are the ones when I am reminded that just about everyone around me is emphatically not.

"Islanders" like to remind you of their native status in many subtle and not-so-subtle ways, often involving semi-confrontational exchanges with wash-a-shores.

Like this one:

Washashore: Hi, I'm Alex.

Islander: Hi Alex. I don't think we're related. Where are you from?

Washashore: Boston, originally, but I grew up coming here in the --

Islander: I'm 12th generation.

Washashore: Excuse me?

Islander: 12th generation Islander. My ancestors landed here on a boat and set up schools and churches and basically invented fishing. And everything else.

Washashore: Wow. That's amazing.

Islander: 12th generation.

Washashore: Gotcha.

Okay. Now let's say you somehow manage to penetrate the circle. You have islander friends. They stop asserting their lineage on a daily basis, and usually you all coexist just fine. Until you ask for directions, in which case you will be confronted with something like the following:

Islander: Meet me at Taylor's house.

Washashore: Okay. Where's that again?

Islander: It's on that street on the left before Will's house.

Washashore: Which Will?

Islander: Willy. You know, Willy, with the hair?

Washashore: Right. So it's the first street on the left before his house?

Islander: I don't know, it's near there.

Washashore: What's the street called?

Islander: We call it Sawyer's because in high school there was this kid Sawyer who used to always throw parties there, but he didn't live there, he lived up-island somewhere with his grandma on her farm.

Washashore: Okay. But the street's not called Sawyer's?

Islander: I doubt it.

Washashore: What does it say on the sign?

Islander: What sign?

Washashore: The street sign.

Islander: Street sign? Islanders don't use street signs. We use navigational tools and our inner compass! We invented street signs!

Washashore: That doesn't make any sense.

Islander: I'll just pick you up.