For quite a few years, I’ve lived, gone to school and worked in Fairfield County, Connecticut. This area is known for having some insanely delicious food, being super-close to the best city in the world (NYC), and being on the shores of the Long Island Sound. At its best, there’s shit happening here and we’re a short drive to so many other beaches, cities and junk. So hey, I ain’t entirely hatin’.
But living here for so long means you will inevitably encounter some of the worst fucking people you have ever met…which is both my favorite part about Connecticut and also the bane of my existence. It’s not Connecticut or the area itself, but rather the people. Like when you’re in a small bar or coffee shop and everyone is talking SO LOUDLY because they want you to know how important they are. In Connecticut, the loudest person IS the most important, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Find a rich Connecticut person around these parts (which is like 9 out of every 10 people – your chances are so good!) and they’d love to tell you about the marathon they’re prepping for, their latest voyage on their boat, or maybe about this “hole in the wall brunch place that NO ONE knows about that you just HAVE to try!”
It’s all very vomit-inducing.
Sometimes, you’ll find yourself at a swank martini or tapas bar, overhearing attention-starved Westport housewives who do nothing but yoga and drink wine while their nannies raise their kids. They’ll carry on all exhausted-like, gasping at certain parts of their stories (the parts that show how really difficult their lives are), when really they’re just complaining about their housekeeper or something (which they will almost always refer to as “the help,” regardless of what they obviously didn’t learn from the popular 2011 film.)
Or how about the business douche I overheard bragging about his $4 million dollar deal…in Starbucks. I heard it because he was screaming it near my face. Did he think that I, sitting quietly with my book, gave a shit?
He was very loud, you guys, and thus, very, very important.
It’s douches like this that really make me love-to-hate this sometimes-OK state I live in. These things actually happen here. They’re real. You can probably meet nicer, cooler New Yorkers in the heart of Manhattan than these clowns in the ‘burbs.
Anyways, this was all brought on by this Amy Schumer skit I just saw called “Fancy Connecticut Friends.” She pretty much hits it directly on the head. Take it away, Amy.