The Pretentious Dillhole Society

I've worked at the Fleming Museum for four years now and I therefore know what kind of people to expect to show up to our biannual opening receptions.  Unfortunately, no amount of experience can really prepare anyone for the ridiculous situations one finds herself in when dealing with Vermont's finest.  The upper-class folk of Vermont have always been somewhat of a fascination to me.  See, I'm from New Jersey; rich people back home flaunt their wealth in the most gaudy and ridiculous of ways which allow us lesser folk to openly and rightfully criticize and mock them.  But here in the Green Mountain State, things are quite different.  With the exception of a handful of outliers, rich Vermonters (from what I've gathered) prefer to flaunt their wealth via the arts.  They try and prove to you just how incredibly intelligent, cultured and liberal they are, when in reality they're the same ignorant, arrogant, money-guzzling whores that claim to oh-so-deeply despise.

Luckily for me I've inherited my mother's patience; though, I must admit last night, it was put to quite the test.  A man (whom I'll admit I'm not totally comfortable naming here) came in early to the museum to make sure that everything was set and ready to go for the big night.  Since, a majority of the works currently on display belong to him, I suppose it was within his rights to show up early and prepare himself.  But of course, that's not the reason he showed up early.  He showed up early to make sure that we were prepared.  This man is famous among the Fleming work-study staff as the most annoyingly arrogant old man who condescends every now and then to grace us with his holy presence.  With more money than god and more art than the Vatican, the man thinks quite highly of himself and does not hesitate to convey this to you.



So the first thing he does is hand me his personal guest list.  Usually, at these events, the artist or collector and his or her family are allowed in for free.  His guest "list," was actually more of a guest book with 54 (yes, I counted) freaking names on his list.  Fantastic.  So now in addition to making sure that all 202 attendees are either museum members, museum board members or paying visitors, I now have the additional task of marking down all 54 of his guests.  But wait.  That's not even the best part.  the best part is when people, who were not on his special list, showed up and claimed they were "friends" of his and then refused to pay the $5.00 admission charge.  $5.00.  Five. Fucking. Dollars.  These people are driving brand spanking new Audi's and picking lint off their $1500 Armani suits and they can't spare $5.00 to get into the museum.  If that's not reason enough to hate these people then I truly don't know what is.

But the best part of my night (besides the free food) was when the big man himself decided to lecture me on Mormonism and politics.  Now, if you're thinking that this is straight out of left field, you're right and can therefore imagine my confusion when he opened with, "they're just disgusting pigs who are marrying 13-year old girls, I mean how can a young lady such as yourself not stand up to this injustice?"  I'm dead serious, that's what he opened with.  At first, I was sure he was talking to me; then I looked up and saw him death-staring me.  But apparently my bewildered look was not obvious to him and so he continued talking.  I have no effing idea why he started this incredibly one sided conversation with me but all I know is that he is definitely not a fan of pedophile Mormons (which, according to him includes but is not exclusive to Mitt Romney) and thinks that "young ladies" such as myself really ought to speak out against the injustices done to my sex.  Despite the fact that I had no idea what he was really talking about or more importantly why, I did find it rather interesting that throughout his banter about how I should speak up for myself as a young American woman, not once did he allow me to speak (and this went on for about 20 minutes).  The most I got in edge wise was a "but--"  "right," and my favorite, "you betcha" (which I really just threw in there to prove that he was not listening to a damn thing I was trying to say nor did he really give a damn).

For the rest of the night, I found myself going over that (I hesitate to call it a) conversation in my head.  What?  WHAT?  I don't even know where to begin to analyze it.  All I know is that it provided me with yet another reason that I cannot stand people who believe themselves to be better than the rest of us because of their wealth, intelligence or whatever else they can come up with.  And what really, really gets me going is those people who attempt to mask their vanity by trying to appeal to us "little-people."  I'm sure many would disagree with me on this point, but honestly, I'll take the mob-wives of New Jersey over these dillholes any day of the week.  At least they're entertaining.