V.I.P

Living on Block Island is awesome, but it starts to make you feel a whole lot cooler than you really are. Though town is teeming with people right now vacationing for the Fourth of July, in the winter months the island consists of only about 750 people, and in the early months of summer when I was just arriving here there was probably only two hundred more. This means you meet people constantly, see them again frequently, and become friends quickly. Walking down the street to work or hanging out at night at the bar I am always running into numerous people I know, some just by face and others quite well. Though this is likely the case for all island workers, the attention causes you to believe you’re way more important than you are in reality.

For instance, the other night while attempting to get into Yellow Kitten’s, a popular local bar, we were met by an obnoxious crowd of people (mostly tourists) attempting to get in. Because the island has become so strict on carding, they were all waiting for the bouncer to meticulously inspect their IDs. My friend Natalie, however, apparently knew the bouncer, so we breezed through un-IDed and without paying the cover charge. Now, we weren’t trying to enter Studio 54, and Lord knows how many other people he allowed to do the same, but Natalie, Bryan, and I all basked in our pseudo-celebrity as we sauntered through the bar with our extra 5 bucks. Of course, 10 minutes later we realized we didn’t know a soul in the place since it was packed from wall to wall with tourists, and so we quickly left. None the less, we had our ten minutes.

And this stuff happens all the time, the little things that most people wouldn’t blink at yet make me think I’m Paris Hilton: slipping past cover-charges, waves from cars as they pass by Harbor Grill, knowing the members of the band playing at the bar. The other day I asked for water from the bartender at Nick’s, and my friend Chris, who was also behind the bar, over-heard and tossed me a bottled water instead of the tap water that is typically provided. I was ecstatic and, though I attempted to remain cool, I totally mentioned to all my friends my “sweet hook-up”.

It’s not just me though: everyone wants to feel a little V.I.P. At work, when attempting to seat customers, spacing them out in different servers’ sections, I know I can usually get them to sit where I want simply by proclaiming a table “the best seat in the house” as I begin to set down their place settings. Their eyes may have been wandering towards the comfy looking table in the corner , but with these simple words I can see their minds change as the “special treatment” starts going to their heads. I laugh at them a little to myself, but in reality I’m sure I’d do the same thing. I’d probably even feel cool enough to go home and write a blog about it. Now, if that’s not the definition of a cool person, I don’t know what is.