Cincinnati, a city of sliders and slide-offs

On a few occasions, the most recent of which was this past weekend, I have had the opportunity to visit Cincinnati, a city so metropolitan that it merits its own football team, its own baseball team and even its own style of chili. When I go there I am surrounded by constant reminders of my status as an outsider. Not only do these people pronounce pin and pen differently (whereas for me they both rhyme with grin), this weekend the city was taken aback by almost a foot of snow.

First of all, that much snow is something that native Georgians typically only see in the movies, and when we do see it on screen, while we're jealous of the kids on the sleds, we're glad we don't have to expose ourselves to such elements or worse yet shovel it. Driving in it is also something I'm glad I don't have to do on a regular basis because, as Cincinnatians proved during the past few days, bringing a car to an abrupt halt on an icy expressway is not an easy feat. A news reporter referred to traffic due to slide-offs. Who ever heard of a slide-off? To me, it was as unfamiliar as a snozzberry.

Because I needed gas and mainly because I secretly just wanted to get out and experience frozen tundra driving first-hand, I made a brief trip to Kroger which is only fitting since the company is headquartered in Cincinnati along with Procter and Gamble and the makers of Sunny-D. For fear of being ridiculed by a Kroger clerk for not saying pop, I suppressed the urge to ask where to find cokes. They were easy enough to spot anyway.

Seeing so-called diluted vodka and diluted gin in the beer-and-wine aisle struck me as odd for a couple of reasons. Number one, here in the bible belt we reserve the sale of spirits to more sinful establishments and number two, where's the fun in diluted liquor? When I asked the guy if they sold 80 proof alcohol, he informed me that I would have to go to a state store. State store sounds like an ambiguous term to me, but I guess it's no less descriptive than package store, which is how many liquor stores refer to themselves here.

On the way out, I walked gingerly across the parking lot to my car, making sure my feet only stepped in areas that were at least relatively free of slick ice. On the few occasions that I did slide, even if only a little bit, I'd get that unsettling feeling of blood rushing to my head in anticipation of a fall and subsequent blow to the skull. If walking like an inept toddler didn't draw enough attention my way and make me stand out, I also had on a shirt, two sweaters and a jacket to protect me from the cold.

Half way through my arctic sojourn from the self checkout to the car, a dad and daughter came barreling out of the store and passed me. His only protective wear was a Cincinnati Reds windbreaker, and the girl, who looked to be about nine or ten years old, was wearing trendy plastic footwear. I looked down at her shoes and couldn't imagine how she managed to stay upright in them on the snow and ice. To add insult to injury, while I was being extra careful not to put my foot on any patches of frozen slush for fear of crashing to the ground, this girl was making a point to jump in them the same way a similarly inclined kid here might jump into puddles.

Obviously I survived another trip to the frosty land of Ohio if I'm now sitting back at home with my trusty laptop. I'm glad I managed to make it to Skyline for a five-way bowl of chili and regret that I've yet to taste a White Castle slider. But having already ventured south on I-75 and just recently going almost as far north on the same road, you can imagine that I've gotten kind of tired of packing and unpacking. Town to town, up and down the dial. Maybe you and me were never meant to be.

But Cincinnati, think of me once in a while.