A Lesson In Snobbery

 
“I’m a lady, dammit.”
– C.

Occasionally J. teases that I’m a snob, and I can’t really get offended by it because it’s sort of true.  For example… 

Let me explain the problem...c'est ne pas la mot juste. And your tenses are wrong. That's all.

I always prefer quality to quantity when it comes to buying things, I’d rather spend more on something that will last me longer than less on something that will fall apart or go out of fashion in the near future.  I’m a bit of a stickler for grammar (I spent a good hour last night proof-reading the group project J. and co. has been working on all term and it practically bled red ink by the time I was done.  The whole time I was muttering things like, “Double spaces between sentences, I don’t care what Twitter culture says!” and “Passive voice, be gone!”  Suddenly I have an insight into the power trip that can be editing, being a writer by comparison seems very tame).  

I think women should wear nice gloves in cold weather, and that fashion might change but style is eternal, so stock up on the classics.  Feminist though I may be, I think a man should be taught from a young age to open doors and pull out chairs, if for no other reason than it reflects well on his mother.  I, very snobbishly, turn up my nose at ostentatious (read: ugly) houses and think that people who buy things just for the sake of buying them and showing off are sad, sad individuals.    

I also think that people should adhere to dress codes, both those printed on invitations and those coming from conventional wisdom (I am especially irritated by people who show up to wedding receptions in jeans and will judge you for doing so).  Pearls always work, and unless something designed by Harry Winston is required for an extremely special occasion, simple diamond studs are all you need.  Less is more.  Politeness is important and anyone who says otherwise is just justifying their own bad behavior.  

I have this problem. I admit it.

This is not to say I don’t have lapses, some of them grievous, from this creed (see above quote).  But I maintain that they are eternal truths to be abided by.  I also have  a snobbish habit of calling people “peasants” when they’re doing something foolish, weird, or distasteful.  In my defense, I picked that up from my most lady-like friend Marie! 

So, knowing that I am a bit of a snob…what do you think my opinion of Walmart is?  To boil it down, any place capable of producing a website like this should be avoided at all costs.  However, situations do arise in which Walmart must be braved and one befell us last night.  

Whilst setting up J. and my collective Christmas present to ourselves (more on that later.  Suffice it to say, I am a very awesome wife), we both were struck with fits of paranoia: me for the physical safety of our fabulous presents, being a klutz with an awful propensity for knocking things over, and J. for the general safety of everything we own, as our deadbolt lock is a pretty pathetic lump of warped metal.  And so, seeing as the nearest home improvement store was closed and the next closest store was Walmart and it was nearly 10pm already, off we went for locks, screws, and nylon. 

...or at least your self-respect.

During our 20 minute sojourn one (full-grown) man let out a five second belch from the next aisle that reverberated throughout the framing and mounting section.  One university-age boy sauntered in wearing what I think was a nylon head-to-toe jumpsuit covered with a tree motif (which I would have assumed was for hunting if it were not for the vivid coloring – not hunter colors, by the way).  Another boy strolled past wearing tie-dye cut off short shorts and extremely bad facial hair.  I saw some spoiled fruit, one mullet, and one girl with pants drooping so low as to, er, let it all hang out.  

Yep, I’m a snob.  And I will not be going back to Walmart again for some time.

12 thoughts on “A Lesson In Snobbery”

    1. So you don’t like Walmart…but what about people who shop at Walmart but are not featured on the formerly mentioned website? What about people who own furniture from Walmart and think they might be buying camping chairs there tonight with their fiancée? What about them?
      (P.S. I have been forced by WordPress to use only 1 space between sentences because if by chance that second sentence falls to the next line, it will have a funny little space between the margin and the first word. True story.)

  1. Amen! I now have a Wal-Mart just down the street, and I find myself avoiding it at almost all costs. Also, proof-reading is a NIGHTMARE, especially college papers, because you sometimes have the false assumption that college student actually care what they write, and actually proof-read themselves. But then you become a T.A. (or a wife, same difference), and you realize that not even college students have been taught simple grammar principles. At least I don’t work in admissions! *Notice that you can even rant while being grammatically correct.*

  2. I feel obligated to point out that the single space started LONG before Twitter. I seem to remember it was due to the AP. And I think the journalists got it right: I find double spaces hard to read. But on all other points (passive voice!) I agree with you.

    1. Yeah, yeah…but I still don’t like it. Stupid AP. I refer not to the rules of official writing, but rather ignorance of them. Journalists can do it. Undergraduates NOT undertaking journalistic endeavors may not.

  3. I’m a snob in many a way. But, a Wal-Mart snob I am not. Nor am I a Dollar Tree snob. The Dollar Tree on State Street and (roughly) 400 N in Orem is awe-inspiring.

  4. Ok, your caption to the Merryl Streep picture threw me off. Do you want to know why?
    Because I expected the nouns to be capitalized. And just now (several days after the first time I saw the post), I realized that no… they only do that in German.

  5. It’s true. I call some people peasants. However, I am the Queen of Everything, so I can call other incompetents “peasants” anytime I like. I can also deny being a snob anytime I like.
    The end.
    Slam the book shut.

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