Last weekend, yours truly was in Boston to visit a friend and have a general weekend of shenanigans. It was highly successful! Boston was a fun place, but you know me… I judge everything. Luckily my type of judging doesn’t fall under the “bitch, please” umbrella that most people equate with the craft, where the judging individual comes off as catty or constantly annoyed. My judging is more of a “you’re not a real person, what are you doing with your life?” which I think is more for entertainment purposes and makes for much better blog entries.
You know what else makes for better blog entries? Me cutting myself off before I start rambling senselessly.
This was my first time in Boston, and I’ve always heard about how Bostonians are unnecessarily rude. Vermont, where I lived for 12 years, didn’t have that issue (when your state manufactures Ben & Jerry’s, it’s difficult to be mean), and now that I live in the South, “mean” isn’t a term in my arsenal for describing people. Still, I got the chance to witness some random displays of aggressiveness, and I thought I’d share.
First, my friend and I were walking to the metro after a fantastic Italian dinner. We got to a street near whatever the rink is called where the Boston Bruins play (no, I’m not going to go research what it’s called, and yes, I’m being lazy), and are crossing the street while the little walking man is up on the crosswalk sign. In order to paint a better picture, I drew a picture. I did it in Paint, though, so for all intents and purposes I literally am attempting to Paint a better picture:
So the car decides that he wants to go right on red. We couldn’t care less because we were just starting to cross the street. Still, the driver decides that, for the entirety of the turn, he’s going to flip us off while making eye contact. Really, dude? It would have made my night if the area had been busy and he hit the person in front of him while flipping us off.
Next fun story happened later that night. We went to a bar with a 30 dollar gift certificate and two other friends. We got enough beer to (according to the bartender) use up the entire certificate, and then close out. Our bill is for a little less than 10 dollars (because the bartender didn’t tell us how much each beer actually was, and apparently she’s terrible at math… which will become apparent again soon). So we give the bartender a 20, and she gives us back 9 bucks. We count the money, stare at each other, finish up our current conversation, and then get our stuff from under the bar in order to leave. Then the following conversation happens:
Bartender: Excuse me, you need to leave me a tip.
*blank stares and silence from the four of us*
Brett: You didn’t give us all of our change back. You don’t get a tip.
Bartender: *indignant* I didn’t?!? I most certainly did!
Victoria: I’m sorry, we’re not giving you a tip because you didn’t give us our change and you’ve been sort of a b**** to us all night.
Bartender: Oh, I’VE been a b****? You’re sitting here telling me that I’ve been bad, and you’re about to leave without giving me a tip?
*at this point, Victoria and I walk away while Brett and our other friend have more choice words with the bartender*
I’ve never been told by a bartender that I HAVE to leave a tip. That’s a new one! And while I appreciate the fact that most food/drink service people work for tips, flat out saying that you need to leave a tip after giving shoddy service is a HUGE no-no.
Yes, those are two of my rude people stories. The taxi services could get their own entry… they actually deny passengers if they’re going somewhere that the taxi driver doesn’t feel like going, and they honk way too much. It was too aggressive up there for me, and I’m glad to be back down in the sweet, slow South, getting fat on sweet tea and fried chicken (read: Bojangle’s) and soaking in the southern hospitality.
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