By STEPHEN DEROSIER
Los Alamos

This transplanted guy has had it with Los Alamos.

Scenically, it’s a geological utopia. Honeycombed with breathtaking hiking trails. Indescribably beautiful. A nearly perfect climate. Snow accumulation? New Englanders—as well as northern tier states—would be laughing at us. Coloradans too. Northern New Mexico almost always gets a peck on the cheek while they take the full facial blow, winter after winter.

But. Talk about having effectively rushed a college fraternity row of houses for over seven years…

People on this Hilltop, by and large, are not friendly. It’s been over seven and a half years for my wife and me. For the longest time I thought it was merely the all-pervasive “Lab culture” (capitalization of the syllable intentional) of Los Alamos. Working there seems to dictate everything socially.

But it’s not just the Lab culture.

I was brought up believing that when you encountered someone, passing each other on a downtown sidewalk, you would make eye contact, nod…perhaps even venture an unassuming “Hello.” People here, if they can’t avoid walking past you, adopt that Thousand Yard Stare. Or keep their eyes downward. God forbid they acknowledge another human being. It’s hard to imagine a more snooty, indifferent demographic.

And every church on this hilltop is a Lab clique. All of them. Pastors here know how their bread is buttered. They have to acknowledge the local Cash Cow in the pulpit, Sunday after Sunday. They pay lip service to “sufficiency in Jesus”, but in reality it’s those bi-weekly Thursday morning direct deposits at LA’s parasitical banks…and how those gold plates/wooden collection boxes are filled to overflow every other Lord’s Day.

As an Outlier, I’ve never felt so irrelevant.

At a recent Friday morning Men’s Fellowship (the church will remain unnamed), my pastor nonchalantly addressed the half dozen of us gathered at the local Starbucks this way: “All of you guys work at the Lab; you just need to remember, in your day to day work grind…” He should’ve known better.

There will always be some “misfit” who doesn’t have one of those Holy Grail jobs. Everything here, everything (regardless of context or setting) hinges on whether you have one of those $100K white-collar jobs (my pastor is so-called Emeritus status, formerly having worked at The Lab as an IT specialist, hence his ongoing membership).

Way to utterly marginalize someone sitting at the table, Pastor. It was everything I could do not to get up and walk away. I sat quietly for several more minutes and finally took my cue to leave as someone else did. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I was blinking back tears as I made my way to the car. I mean, who would want to sleep in on a Friday morning when he could venture out and experience that “inclusive” fellowship?

At least during college Fraternity House Rush Week—campuses across the country—it’s exactly that: one October week as you make the rounds, house after house, hoping you’ve said the right things (and refrained from wrong ones), guffawed over the right jokes. “Rushing” churches in Los Alamos? It’s effectively “rush week” in perpetuity, week after week (again, if you don’t have that pristine job at The Lab), with never a clear indication as to whether you’ve been accepted. People are (usually) at least cordial with you in a church setting, but acceptance, as in actually making a real friend, or hitting it off with a couple you and your spouse could actually bond with? It’s hardly any wonder that a few folks eventually move away from this snooty berg. Again, not a friendly town.

The “Golden Calf” for Los Alamos is indeed that monument that continues to be life support for virtually all of the local population. I watch dozens of inbound Lab Employees from my deck, North Mesa, weekday mornings, pair after pair of headlights and taillights, every other car less than a vehicle length behind someone having the audacity to observe the speed limit. First word of useful advice, should you actually move here? Driving ten miles an hour over the posted limit in Los Alamos isn’t so much breaking the law as impeding the flow of traffic. People here can be incredibly nasty, to say nothing of reckless.

The arrogance. The sheer sense of entitlement. Once more, would-be transplants, not a friendly town (and God forbid you show up with even a vestige of a Southern accent). But people here seem to want it this way. They probably love that the town being situated on Mesas prevents any “suburban sprawl”. I’d hate to work at the LA Chamber of Commerce. Can’t imagine what kind of positive spin they try to ascribe to this place. Here’s the most relevant advice for anyone inbound for Los Alamos who doesn’t have a job already in the can with The Lab (we were invited out by our son, who does): bring friends with you, or a dog.

I’ll give a nod to the local Kroger superstore: at least they can acknowledge and make provision for those few among the local population that are not endowed with that $100K salary. You can spend seven dollars for a box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, or two bucks for Kroger’s same-size box. Ditto their private label peanut butter, canned peas, corn…or their nod to Saltine crackers. Smith’s Marketplace is savvy enough to recognize a demographic here that doesn’t have a six-digit salary. The White Star Line management, circa 1912, recognized that too. It was called Steerage Class. But nobody on that ill-fated ship went hungry.

Wish I could say the same for the churches on this Hilltop. Another local pastor sent out a generic email a while back, soliciting for volunteers, worded exactly like this: Calling all painters! Any of you guys who can switch out a Friday, your help would be most appreciated! Nice. Hey, pass the butter, okay?

It breaks my heart to say this, but…seek life somewhere else, guys and gals intent on moving to Los Alamos, if you don’t have a white-collar Lab job sewn up. You likely won’t make the same money elsewhere, but you’ll make friends…and that’s something you cannot, cannot put a price tag on.