But as is the case in many metro areas, the two neighborhoods are so different that on first sight you wouldn't believe the geographical proximity. For as little as the residents interact, and for as different as life is between them, the two neighborhoods might as well be in different time zones.
After three years in the East End (WASP-y, if we are to generalize), I moved to Shelby Park eight months ago. Shelby Park makes up one-third of 40203: the poorest Zip Code in the 11th poorest city in the United States. I had spent plenty of time down here, the over-involved church member that I am. In fact, I had spent plenty of time, in plenty of cities, in plenty of neighborhoods just like Shelby Park. I was 29 (and still am, for 1 more week), and I thought I had a pretty good handle on what to expect.
I was wrong.
(My husband will laugh when he reads that, and he will probably ask if I really mean it. But I do.)
Sure, there were plenty of things that didn't surprise me—gunshots every so often, trash in the streets, neighbors who don't dress, talk, or act like me, the smell of pot in the spring—but what I couldn't predict, and what I never expected, is the utterly demoralizing toll that living in Shelby Park would lay on my spirit.
Because, I get things done. I make things happen. I know my rights, and your rights, and I won't let anyone take them from us. I elevate the status quo. I expect action.
But over the last eight months, this has been my day-by-day life:
Our garbage collection company skips our neighborhood every few weeks, sometimes multiple weeks in a row, making it nearly impossible to keep trash off of our block.
MSD (Metro Sewer Department) dug holes in the asphalt every 20 feet down our entire street and left them uncovered all winter to tear up my wheel bearings (needing over $1,000 in repairs).
FedEx and UPS only sometimes deliver my packages.
Laundromats might as well be called highway robbery, because even after three cycles at $2 each your clothes aren't clean or dry.
The only grocery store in SP is Save-A-Lot (a.k.a. The Tiniest Produce Section Ever) and it has a sign that claims it belongs to Germantown, the next neighborhood over. Because even Save-A-Lot doesn't want to claim Shelby Park.
Pizza joints won't deliver to my address.
Our friends' cable line got clipped and stolen just hours after it was installed.
Neighbors fill up our trash can to overflowing within an hour of it being emptied.
Couches, mattresses, and tables line the alleys and streets.
The World's Most Annoying ice cream truck circles and sits on our block as soon as the outside temperature hits 50°, and our windows and walls are thin enough that we can clearly decipher every conversation that takes place on our street.
Our streets never got plowed, even days after 14" of snow fell on our city, creating hazards for anyone with a job to go to.
Temporary No Parking signs go up merely hours before they take effect in a neighborhood where nearly everyone uses street parking. Our cars, our law-abiding-citizens' cars have been ticketed twice and towed once in the last month, resulting in hundreds of dollars worth of fines.
The kids on our street put up a basketball hoop next to a bar and play in the middle of the street as cars try to drive through.
Our neighbors with six kids got evicted and moved into a one bedroom apartment after their cancer treatment bills left them unable to pay rent.
Maybe I sound like a whiney rich kid, or maybe I sound like a entitled brat. Over these last eight months, I've had to come to terms with the fact that at times I have been both of those things. But I have also experienced what happens to a person when they can't get the city to collect their trash or repair their potholes, as their tax dollars pay them to do. I have experienced what happens to your mindset when you spend more to do your laundry than you spend on gas. I have experienced what happens to your spirit when you walk through broken glass and trash to get to your still-marred-from-the-break-in front door.
Something inside begins to break. What's the point in trying? Everything's against me anyway: the City, the neighbors, the system, the grocery store. This is the 13th poorest Zip Code in the United States. No one cares, and no one hears, and nothing is ever going to change. Maybe I should just leave.
And there it is, the core difference between me and many of my neighbors: I have the option. I have the credit score, the paycheck, the skin color, and the background check to move out of this 'hood if I so choose.
Which is exactly why I will stay. Shelby Park doesn't need me. But I need Shelby Park.
Welcome to 40203.
Rachel I am going to be following your life in Shelby Park. Thanks for writing. Those are things you don't think about making it harder to live somewhere. That is frustrating. And yes, worse when you think you have the option of moving out and others don't.
ReplyDeleteWoman. I love you.
ReplyDeleteAll the yes. And yet we are told that gentrification, like global warming, is just a myth.
ReplyDeleteOur first home in Louisville was in 40203. Our car windows were smashed in three times. Our building broken into more. We once got pulled over and flat out asked what we were doing in the neighborhood. Our experience was similar to yours these last months, and you are right about how defeating it is. Still, I also remember how our neighbors were fantastic. It was a rich and rewarding year. And if the apartment had been more than 500 sq feet we would have stayed much longer.
Thank you for doing what God has called you to do! It IS hard work, but it will glorify God when people come to know Him because of your obedience. I pray for your neighborhood every day, my husband works there.
ReplyDelete