Coming October 2022: "The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson"



I occassionally work in the Starbucks in Scarsdale. It’s a nice place—clean, regular group of customers, an odd-yet-entertaining sexual thing going on with a few of the people.

I disgress. The problem with Scarsdale is simple: Snobbery. Too many of the residents are snobbed—entitled wealthy white people who never pick up a napkin, wipe down a table, know what it is to show respect and compassion (outside of writing a fat check to some tax-deductable charity).

Case in point: When I arrived this morning, there was a woman upset over losing the keys to her BMW. She looked and looked, and came to the conclusion she threw them out in the Starbucks garbage. The employees—being exceptionally nice—took out the cans and dug through them … with their own hands. The woman looked too, but nothing was uncovered.

She returned a few hours later to double check—nothing. Then she came back a third time, asking to check the garbages again. An employee—a nice woman I’ve known for a while—explained to her that the store probably has 100 bags of garbage a day, and they don’t save them; can’t save them. “Besides,” she said, “we already checked twice.”

The key loser was indignant. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t save the garbage cans; was anything but appreciative that employees spent their time digging for keys. She threatened the employee … told her somebody at Starbucks would pay the $400 it costs for new keys.

I sat there, seething. Wanted to chew this lady out; tell her to bug off; bite me; etc. But it wasn’t my place, and the employee was handling herself fine. But it remains incredible to me how many wealthy people develop a sense of elitism that is just … just … sad. Truly sad.

If I find this woman’s keys tomorrow in Starbucks—behind a garbage can, under a seat—well, I’ll return them to her. But not without a serious tongue lashing.


PS: If you have a second, listen to this. True bliss.