Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I was eating in a nice restaurant with a date last Saturday. When my beef tenderloin arrived, it was medium rare (red and gelatinous inside) despite my having ordered it medium (a hint of pink). Being from the East Coast, my instinct was to send it back and request that it be cooked as requested. But I sense things are done differently here. My date offered to switch meals with me to avoid me sending back my meat. But he had ordered his lamb medium rare, and it was in fact medium rare. What should I have done in this situation?

I Like My Meat Cooked

Dear Meat,

You “sense things are done differently here,” do you? I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, new neighbor. Have you heard of Seattle’s nickname, “the Emerald City”? With its visionary library and museums, beautifully maintained parks, and views of mountain and sky surprising you at every turn, Seattle does in fact have an enchanted air of unreality. Perhaps it’s one of the things that drew you here. But what do all fairy tales require? If you said “order,” give yourself a gold star. All who desire the beauty of this realm must submit to its unspoken rules. Given their nature, it is gauche to speak of these rules. You should simply absorb them when you move here, along with the ambient sounds of seagulls and milk being injected with steam.

But if one should manage to pierce this hovering mist of unspoken rules, as you seem to have done, the second line of defense is the politely circuitous mutterings of more experienced Seattleites. That’s where your date came in, Meat. When he offered to switch entrées with you, Madam or Sir, he was throwing himself on his sword to save you from being rude. What he was saying with his offer was, “Please don’t violate the illusion that we all accept each other unconditionally. For this illusion is a shining castle from whose turrets we all smile at one another, no matter how clueless and inept some of us may be.” You may have missed the sadness of your date’s smile when he realized you’d failed to telepathically receive this meaning. And that would have been that, but some blessed force put it into your head to write to me. And so here I stand, on bended knee, the final line of defense, imploring you: Please eat whatever the waiter brings, even if it’s poison. We’re all counting on you to keep the magic alive.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I know that taking care of your dog’s shit is practically one of the Ten Commandments here, and I always have a Bartell bag tied to the leash when I take my pug for a walk. But riddle me this: What if your dog goes a second time?

One Bag, Two Craps

Dear One Bag,

I can relate. This happened to me. But just as the universe may toss obstacles in our path, it can also, with a mischievous turn of the Dharma wheel of fate, offer alternative routes around these obstacles. The trick is to maintain the heightened state of awareness that will allow you to find these playful detours.

My story begins when I was taking a second lap around Green Lake with Kunio one evening and noticed he had a far-off look in his eyes and was walking in that special, stiff-legged way. My only plastic bag, filled with his first movement, had already been deposited in a receptacle by the boat rental place. Rather than fight nature, I took note of a blessing that was temporarily ours: We were alone in a gap between waves of strollers and Rollerbladers. My voice a careful mixture of urgency and gentleness, I whispered to Kunio, “If you’re going to go, go now, boy, go now!” His little squinty eyes shining with silent comprehension, Kunio did the deed. I then placed a pine cone on his product, to warn pedestrians, commemorate the special bond between us, and thank the universe for endowing us with the agility to improvise in jazzy counterpoint to. . . . But perhaps this is all a bit much for you? If you want advice that’s a little more “direct,” a little less “nonsensical,” perhaps you’re not open-minded enough to benefit from my words. Which is fine. No biggie. Anyway, my story was about a special, one-time dispensation from the universe. It doesn’t apply to you, so just make sure you always carry at least two bags.

Have a question for the Uptight Seattleite? Send it to uptight@seattleweekly.com.