Reverse snobbery

It’s funny, but bigotry cuts both ways.

I live in one of the wealthier towns in Massachusetts. And when I tell people where I live, I can usually sense when they’re passing judgment on me. Some people, and these people tend to be poorer people, hear where I live and they see a person who they just naturally assume is wealthy and has all of the accompanying attributes of the wealthy, whatever that may be, from a horse to a big house to a big bank account to a clueless outlook on the world. And then they treat me accordingly, either with respect or disdain, depending on their mood.

The truth is I’m a divorced dad who rents one of the few apartments in the town. I live there because it gives me close proximity to my youngest kid who lives in the next town over with her mother. I drive a (very) late model, beat up Ford F-150 pickup truck because it’s paid for and frankly I can’t imagine any bank that would be stupid enough to loan me any money for a smaller one that sucked less gas. I work as a writer, to some a very elitist and perhaps snobbish occupation, but I don’t make enough to pay my monthly bills. Frankly, writing to me is no different from plumbing. It’s a job, no better or different from any other.

I belong in that town like a stray dog belongs at a debutante ball but you can’t tell some people that.