I Get Invited to Greenwich

Saturday night...

A coworker from Greenwich had a bbq and invited all the cool kids to go. (Tee hee, I'm a cool kid!) He's actually staying in his uncle's home while the uncle is away for the summer, so he's not necessarily used to living in this ultra-rich community.

Greenwich, for you novices, used to be the richest community in the United States, recently outdone by Jackson Hole, WY.

Requirements for the BBQ: $5 for food, your own booze, and knowing how to get there.

I went to find my own booze at the local liquor store, Crazy Bruce's, and while there ran into the Big X's parents. I promptly ran down an adjacent aisle and called Rose so when I reemerged I clearly was Very Important and couldn't talk to them while I was checking out with my Guinness beer and local CT wine.

So I'm driving down to Greenwich with my Rand McNally directions (my favorite place for mapping, by the way--never done me wrong). I get off the exit and begin to measure miles to each turn....and discover Greenwich's secret: They don't want you to be able to find them. Clearly they can't get rid of those damn highway exit signs that say "Lake Ave., Greenwich" and so on on them, but beyond that, they do everything possible to not help you find your way.

Street signs are small and white and nonreflective in the dark, well-hidden by trees, as if they almost placed the signs behind said trees on purpose. I had 3 turns to make once I got off the highway, and at each I drove past and had to turn around to find it. (Of course, half of this might have been due to my gaping at all the Manses I was driving by.) I was driving down the supposed street that this guy lived on and came upon a small fence in the middle of the roadway. Should I proceed or not? I chose yes, and drove around two or three such fences until I came upon the correct address.

The correct address had an iron gate across the drive with an intercom system. This was the first time in my life I've had to use one of these systems. After dialing the wrong number once, I did it correctly and was told to "drive straight into the courtyard." I of course didn't know what the hell a courtyard was, but drove straight, hoping to find it. I did.

Rose was there but no one else yet. While we were waiting, we were instructed to take a look at the "Art Wing" so we did. I found out that they had a Picasso, a Rodan (sp?) and a Norman Rockwell in their collection. I said, "Very nice. Too bad my sister isn't here." Frankly, it was all lost on me. It really was.

The evening progressed. I had some wine and gave my Guinness to the host's friend, who was totally hot. We played Taboo, in which Eddie (my counterpart in another part of the state) and I are serious rivals. I had two super sucky teammates, which caused me to lose. (I am so having a game night up in my area of the state, where I have several good teammates ready to go.)

Things were wrapping up a bit later and we were trying to decide who needed to stay and who could drive home. Tai said she'd stay and Megan was passed out at the patio table so Eddie and I decided to move her. We got about 5 steps into the Manse when she puked over the (priceless I'm sure) wood panel flooring. I rushed her to the marble tiled bathroom and held her hair while she puked, brought her to the passenger seat of her car, and then cleaned up her mess in the bathroom.

Eddie's girlfriend drove Megan home and the rest of us drove back to the appropriately white trashy parts of Connecticut from whence we came, leaving the Pristine Greenwich cleaned up from White Trash Puke and understanding why they hide those street signs. Gotta keep that GDP for Greenwich up. Can't let Wyoming beat us again.