Last night, I participated in a history walk which was a delight save the presence of a couple of the worst kind of tourons – the kind who currently live off-Cape, but whirl their “we grew up here” territoriality around like a spiked mace.
I must have heard that stupid phrase at least a dozen times in the course of 90 minutes.
I’ll take 15 tourists from New York to one such inarticulate, defensive, inbred jingoist any day.
In fact, at one point this summer, I was so fed up with these yokel types that I planted myself at “New Yorkers on vacation” central, the Popponessett marketplace, just for a welcome breath of civility.
I have one message for the bumptious couple who I had the misfortune to encounter last night: I live here. You don’t. I vote and pay taxes here. You never have. So take your ignorant, backwater, “Southie (or in this case, Bourne) is my home town” attitude and shove it up your basses.