I’m a snob

middle-age American living in New Jersey near the Lincoln Tunnel «« I’m a snob, and this how I know its’ apparent to others.  Being a snob requires both ONE: an internal sense of aloofness  TWO: the sense of aloofness that is detectable by others.  In my New Jersey barrio my setentacinco-centavos espresso at the bodega nearest home is great, so when I pay more (it’s impossible to pay less evening at home) and I get less I have a sense of aloofness.  I can hear the words tumbling in my head, “I get better espresso near my home, and I pay less”, but this does not qualify me as a snob, because I am able to conceal my thought from the Mexicans or Central Americans (not just Mexicans or Central Americans it could be Peruanos, forgive me Alejandro).  On multiple occasions here in New Orleans I’ve been denied espresso, and I failed to conceal my negative judgment by twisting my outward appearance neutral or positive — like — I could have politely said, “okay, I’ll have coffee”, but I stumbled . . . . the f&b pro apologized, and I said unforgiving things like, “We’re not ready” then upon his return to our table, “it’s espresso or nothing”.  Vundabar my snobbery can go back into hiding, because after being denied again today Hana and I sat in the green space of Jackson Square, and phone searched espresso — grazie Cafe Villa and Creperie on Dumaine Street in the French Quarter. »» about me  302-990-2346  twitter  nearlincoln@hotmail.com  contact us