Downtown Provo

Provo loves fast food.

Provo hides its vices.

Provo collects old cars.

Provo can be dirty.

Provo embraces the new and old.

I had noted Downtown Provo for its sort of “old-timey” quirkiness—a sort of homage to the New England or European roads, where rows of buildings line the streets. In many ways I thought that it was trying to be that, a sort of failed attempt at being cultured. Well, when I arrived there this morning, the very first thought that occurred to me was to take a photo of inside of a trash bin. I walked over to the metal trash can and took the photo, smiling at the couple in the car nearby who probably thought I was crazy. I expected to find trash from surrounding restaurants, maybe a semi-eaten taco from a nearby taco stand. What I found instead were bags from McDonalds and Wendy’s—two restaurants that aren’t really nearby (at least within walking distance). It sort of played into that American stereotype: that we love fast food and can’t get enough of it. It was like saying, “Yes, even though there are much more interesting food options nearby, fast food is still king.” I moved on from the trash bin and found a small garden-like area behind the bank. I thought it was just a nice sitting area for passersby, but then I realized that it was kind of hidden. It’s not something you’d notice off the side of the road and it sort of blends in with its surroundings. That’s when I noticed the numerous cigarettes on the floor and the beer cans in the bushes. It’s a break area—a spot where employees from the nearby stores probably go to smoke. Some of the trash suggested that it’s a prime hangout at night. I took a photo of one of the benches, a beer can placed (almost staged) perfectly at the foot of the bench. To its side stands a narrow cigarette trash pipe where someone had evidently tried to shove an entire cigarette box into its small hole. Just behind the bench was a public parking garage. Several of the cars caught my interest and so I went inside. I was surprised to find a number of very old cars and trucks—what were they doing here? While the garage is clearly open to the public, these looked as though they had been sitting here for a long time, almost on display like some sort of collection. One of them had a cover draped over it, its retro tires still visible. My walk finally took me through an alleyway where I found an open and decaying electrical box. Someone, someday, for some reason, had posted some confused panda sticker to its side. Across the street sat Zeek’s Pie Shake Parlour. Next to it stands an old brick building with a faded sign that reads, “Provo Pharmacy.” It was evidently forgotten and almost invisible next to the newer and brighter shake shack below. As I walked back to my car, it occurred to me that Downtown Provo isn’t really trying to be like New England or Europe at all. It’s just itself. It’s just Provo. It’s a mix of things—things that don’t seem to go together, and yet do anyway. It’s grungy at yet at the same time professional, it’s old and yet at the same time new, it’s lively at night and yet dead in the morning. It calls to everyone in some way or another. I decided that I needed to contribute too. When I got back to my truck, I fished out an old McDonalds bag stuffed beneath a seat and dropped it in the nearby trash bin.