Moving Back to Dallas

Almost exactly three years after leaving Dallas to earn my Georgetown Tax LL.M. degree in Washington, D.C., I was headed back to Texas.

The pandemic triggered an exodus from the District among my social network. Despite the ubiquitous “diversity and inclusion” marketing among D.C. employers, LGBT and brown people are still the first ones to get fired when there’s economic uncertainty. Many of my friends working in politics, nonprofits, and the service industry got the chop pretty early. They abandoned their apartments and moved back to their hometowns at the beginning of the summer.

Then a larger group of people started trickling out of the District as months ticked by and leases came up for renewal. With fully-virtual office environments and most amenities shuttered, why pay a premium to live in the District?

Plus, with employment security being questionable, many of us decided that it was time to move closer to family, cities with cheaper rent, and better job markets. That’s why not renewing my lease in Ivy City was a no-brainer.

Some of my friends remaining in D.C. did not quite understand why I was so excited to move back to Dallas. This is probably because the image they have of Dallas is actually closer to Fort Worth: a sleepy downtown, a handful of gay bars, cowboys, and cattle.

In reality, Dallas is larger and more diverse than the District, has a thriving gayborhood, and although the District has the veneer of wokeness, the racism in D.C. is actually worse than in Texas. (More on that another day, soon).

The road trip

After deciding to move back to Texas, there was the task of actually getting there.

Everything took longer than expected – the trip to the city dump, getting the U-Haul, packing and cleaning the apartment, throwing out the hoard of condiments collected over 3 years, etc., etc.… so we hit the road to Dallas super late.

I pulled into a rural Virginia gas station on Friday afternoon. As I put on my mask, the ear-strap snaps. I then realize that all of the other masks are with Michael in a U-haul miles away.

I enter the gas station convenience store holding the broken mask to my face. The sign near the register says something about a national coin shortage – exact change only. I ask the cashier if they sell masks.

Cashier: “We used to, but not anymore.”

Me: “So you have no masks at all?”

Cashier: “Well, what type of car do you drive?”

Me: “The Chevy parked there.”

Cashier: “How much is it worth to you?”

I stare at the cashier blankly for a second and then he cracks a smile and gives me one of the masks from the staff stash for free. I thank him and pay for a Diet Pepsi with cash.

Cashier: “We don’t have change because of the coin shortage…”

Me: “Keep it – it’s the mask fee!”

Marion, Virginia

The next gas stop is hours later in Marion, Virginia, where it is raining hard.

The restrooms are behind a woman spending her Friday evening playing slot machine games in the gas station. Perhaps gambling is one of the reasons why this gas station is packed with all sorts of characters, including a woman driving a lime green racing car with the words “VIKING KITTY” emblazoned on it. (Don’t Google image search that at work).

After feeling pretty frightened by the fellow customers, I realize that I actually blend in with this crowd – my nondescript tank-top and gym shorts are filthy from loading the U-haul in D.C. that morning, and I have a tattoo arm sleeve. I look more like a trucker than a Washington D.C. tax lawyer, so maybe I should stop judging.

Lowered expectations

I wanted to get all the way to Nashville on the first day, but felt exhausted after reaching the Tennessee border. Michael and I ended up abandoning our Nashville hotel reservations and staying at a funky cat-infested motel on the side of the highway in N owhere, Tennessee. I’d take my chances with cats than risky driving any day.

After a nap, we were back on the road. I accidentally packed my change of clothes in the U-Haul, so I had to buy a new outfit from a Tennessee big box store.

If I was mimicking a rural Virginia native on the first day of this road trip, I transformed into a suburban dad on the second day – cargo shorts, t-shirt with a pocket, and a baseball cap from a truck stop.

The rest of the trip was uneventful besides a few torrential rain showers and getting called both the F- and N- words at an Arkansas gas station. I also got identified as an out-of-towner at one gas station because I was the only person wearing a mask, (meaning that I needed to get out of there!)

I made it to Dallas without Ingrid the labradoodle throwing up in the car (like last time) and I managed to finish several audiobooks from James Patterson’s Women’s Murder Club series.

Moving into my new Dallas apartment was unexpectedly complicated.

My new apartment building does not have a freight elevator, and the regular-sized elevators open up into a parking garage, which is too small for moving trucks. We have park on the sidewalk and wheel everything in, while hoping that the garage gate swings open in time for us. Meanwhile, there are several move-outs vying for the same curbside parking and elevator space.

An unexpected benefit of the dozens of trips to-and-from the truck is that I get to meet a lot of my new neighbors, most of whom immediately introduce themselves and agree that the move-in situation is ridiculous.

The only thing that does not survive the move is a large Ikea cube shelf, which dramatically implodes on the sidewalk in front of the building. It is 100 degrees and we are so overheated and exhausted that we just laugh and decide to be grateful that we can just walk that shitty shelf to the guy first floor dumpster instead of upstairs. (Plus, maybe we are too old for that type of shelf anyway).

Besides the crappy shelving unit, everyone and everything made it to Dallas in one piece, and I am excited to see what Texas has in store for us. 🌵