Welcome to Brookline, Land of Overpriced Luxury SUVs and the Miserable Malcontents Who Drive Them

Ok, so I know I'm constantly going on about how annoying and arrogant Cambridge People are. But every once in a while, a doctor's appointment or a shopping trip brings me to the far-away-so-close world of Brookline and I realize that, next to Brookline People, Cambridge People look like meek, unassuming little Girl Scouts eagerly chasing after their badges in the areas of "selflessness," "courtesy," and "putting-others-before-self."

I tell you, Brookline People are like no others. For some reason, if you are native to, or even just reside in Brookline, you feel like you're one of the "chosen ones." Brookline People are convinced, I'm sure, that their shit smells like roses. They're so entitled, self-righteous and just downright selfish and rude. I enjoy the area because it is really lovely and there are many interesting shops all around, but I just can't stomach being there for long periods of time.

Everytime I go through Coolidge Corner or Brookline Village, I think, upon my initial arrival in the area, "Man, if it didn't cost millions to live here, I'd move here in a heartbeat." But then reality hits, and some woman comes careening out of Starbucks pushing a double stroller toward her right as she looks squarely toward her left, thus turning said baby carriage into a weapon of mass destruction. When she essentially hobbles me by amputating my legs just below the knees and I bellow out, "FUCK!" in pain, she gives me dirty look because I've said a "no-no word" in front of little Jack and Isabella. Have I mentioned that Jack and Isabella are a pair of 14 year old twins who, for some reason or the other, are still being transported in a carriage? I honestly think they're in the carriage because the thing was manufactured by Mercedes-Benz and is a status symbol not to be cast aside simply because the children in it can not only walk, but are, in fact, All-State track and field champions.

That's just a little anecdote intended to help illustrate why, in addition to not having a trust-fund equal to the GDP of a 3rd world country, I choose not to live in Brookline.

This habit of walking in one direction and either looking in the opposite direction, or totally backwards, seems to be innate to Brookline people. Navigating the streets of Brookline makes me feel like a video game character. You never know what is coming at you, where it might turn, how quickly it might move, or when it might opt to stop short in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. It is brutal out there.

Today in Starbucks (I know, another coffee shop story!), I was waiting in a rather lengthy line when Lauren called. I didn't see the harm in taking the call. I was nowhere near the register, but this woman behind me was obviously getting all anxious, shooting me the filthy looks. The closer we got to the register, the more her underwear was getting all bunched up. Of course, I knew in the back of my mind that I would not be so rude as to place an order while on the phone. And I knew that if the conversation carried on long enough for it to be my turn, I would tell the lady behind me to go before me. But I waited until that exact moment arrived. It was a riot. The lady was just about to deliver a freakin' load of kittens when I turned to her and motioned for her to go before me and place her order.

Of course her order was a non-fat, decaf, breve .

Wench.

When I went over to put some skim milk in my coffee, I realized the caraffe was empty, so I brough it to the counter to tell the woman at the reigster that it was empty and ask her to fill it with skim. The jackass I just spoke of was making a nuisance of herself at the area where the kid who makes the drinks was trying to juggle about 15 orders and deal with some idiotic question she seemed to be whining at him.

It turns out she was also looking for the skim milk, and was apparently all thrown off kilter when the skim thermos was amiss from the counter. When I returned with it, full, she said (in this croaking voice and accusatory tone), "Oh, YOU had the skim."

"Technically," I replied, "I didn't have the skim. I had the thermos where the skim normally would be, but it was empty."

She then replied, "Well, you shouldn't have taken the thermos. They would have known it was empty and they would have filled it."

I was going to argue with her. I mean, come on. The thermos is silver. How the hell would they know, by looking at it, that it was empty? Somebody would have had to point out to them that it was empty. And here I was thinking I was doing the kids working there a favor by bringing the thermos to them so as to save them a trip over to get it. I mean, Jesus, it would be completely idiotic to go over and tell the kid, "That thermos is empty," only to make him walk over and get it anyway!

The very strange thing is that, at this point, the woman was almost hysterical. I didn't see what the big deal was. After all, I had just returned with a full thermos full of skim milk. But the best part was that she pried it from my hands, and started poring it into her own freakin' breve. Why she needed to put more milk in there is beyond me, but hey, if I really stopped to think about it, that would mean that I care, right? I stood there sort of incredulously, just staring at the woman. She looked down at the thermos in her hands, almost shocked to see it there. She looked at me and said, "Oh, did you need this, too?"

"NO, LADY! I WENT OVER THERE AND WAITED IN LINE TO GET THE SKIM MILK BECAUSE, AS YOU KNOW, THE WORLD REVOLVES AROUND YOU AND I JUST SENSED THAT YOU WERE GOING TO NEED THE SKIM MILK!!!!"

I know, I know...going into Starbucks in and of itself is risky business. Going into a Starbucks in Brookline is just asking for trouble.

But this is the thing, see. Each and every person in Brookline feels like they are the only person in Brookline. People can vary their pace as they walk down the sidewalk, so as to keep you guessing as to how fast or slowly you should be moving. They stop shot to make sure you spill your coffee down your white winter scarf. They carry on full volume cell phone conversations at Zathmary's while you're just sitting there trying to eat your salad from the 99 dollar-a-pound salad bar. They cut in front of you in lines at stores. They run red lights in their Infiniti SUV's and grimace in disgust when they realize they're going to have to have their husbands hose off the remains of the 90 year-old woman they just ran over in the crosswalk. They place their bags on the empty seats on the T so as to make sure you do not have a place to sit. They would neither think to hold a door for you, nor extend a word of gratitude if you hold the door for them.

The other thing that annoys the hell out of me in Brookline is that everybody thinks they have to constantly display their intelligence for the world to see. Nobody can speak in normal, everyday English in Brookline.

In the real world, a customer in a coffee shop might say, "May I please have a large decaf?" In Brookline, the customer would say, "Oh, let me see....Well last night little Zaccariah and Tristen kept me awake all night with their plaintive cries. I'll simply perish tonight if I don't manage to procure a decent night's sleep. To that end, I believe I'll take an uncaffienated version of your fine French Roast Free-Trade coffee beverage."

This idiot at the supermarket actually told the cashier, "I'm back again. I just can't stay away from the glucose today. Earlier I was in for a fructose fix, and now I'm just indulging my insatiable sweet tooth in a purely naughty sucrose fix." The cashier had to laugh politely (it was way too forced to actually be sincere) and he said, "How were the blueberries, anyway?" From this, I concluded that the man had just eaten some blueberries (thus the reference to "fructose") and I could see that he was buying this huge cookie (thus the reference to sucrose.) I mean, JESUS CHRIST, PEOPLE!!!! I undertsand all those words, too. I can even use them in sentences. But come on. Do we have to be that pretentious??

I swear, after a few hours of Brookline, you'll be rushing the hell out of there, too.

I waited for the bus back to Harvard Square. I hate the bus. It really does suck. But usually, after a few hours in Brookline, I feel comforted by the bus. I feel a sense of normalcy among the Irish painters telling dirty jokes, the Hispanic women with the gold teeth screaming wildly in laughter, the high school kids using language so filthy you'd hardly believe they could kiss their mothers with the same mouths, the drunks on the verge of passing out, and other people, like me, just trying to get away from it all by escaping to the pages of a good book.

These are my peeps.

Toto, I don't think we're in Brookline anymore. Thank Christ!