Slauson Cut-off....

Remember the "real" Tonight Show with Johnny Carson? He did a skit where he was Art Fern showing a massive tangle of L.A. freeways and it always ended with cutting off your Slauson. Our first journey on the mass of tangles they call "commuting in LA" was not for the weak of heart. Especially since we had absolutely no idea where we were going. Kate had called human resources and gotten the address - remember, no computers, no internet..just people who, thankfully, answered the phone. They were located in the "mid-Wilshire District". Now all we had to do was find Wilshire. We'd figure out the mid-part later.

What we did find were several freeways and each had a Wilshire exit,or offramp as they are called. Since every freeway seemed to merge from the right at warp speed, it was impossible to exit unless you spotted the signs far in advance. I don't remember which freeway finally deposited us onto Wilshire Boulevard, but I do remember we were deep in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. That was almost as scary as Downey.

There are no homeless people in Locust Valley. Very little dirt, except in gardens and no traffic. This was truly life in the fast lane. I had a vague idea of how Alice must have interpreted falling through the looking glass.

We found the office building and decided mid-Wilshire looked wonderful. We began driving around and it seemed a more than acceptable place to live. Luckily, most of the apartments had live-in managers so we would stop at one and ring the buzzer. How safe and secure a building with a buzzer seemed. And, wait - there were palm trees lining Occidental Boulevard.

Oh my gosh...the apartment - #101 - was just like a Doris Day movie. Built in furniture and shag carpeting. Completely furnished one bedroom for $175 a month including utilities. Between three of us that would be more than manageable. It would be downright thrifty.

When my parents' arrived for a visit at Christmas, my father's immediate exclamation ruined my fantasy first apartment...."Jesus Christ - you're the only name on the mailbox that isn't Mexican".

I guess we'd noticed but I'm happy to say it hadn't mattered until then.

I was being ordered back home.