The People of Greenwich

Greenwich, Connecticut, is populated by rich, white, anglo-saxon protestants (WASPS). Some of these people are as rich as Croseus, but Croseus lives across the line in Stamford and cannot get into the Greenwich Country Club.

When I first moved to Greenwich from polyglot Manhattan, I said to myself, “Jack” (That’s what I call myself), “Jack, who are these rich Wasps to think that they are superior to everyone else?” I decided to research the question and consulted the leading authorities.

To my amazement, I discovered that I was all wrong. Rich Wasps really are superior to everybody else. They do deserve to live in the best houses, drive BMWs, and shop at Talbots. In every study, Wasps scored higher than other ethnic groups. One leading survey of the subject is the March 1998 Consumer Report’s rating of ethnic groups. Listing the groups in order of estimated overall quality, Consumer Reports puts Wasps first by a wide margin.

The only dissenter in this chorus of praise for Wasps was the consumer advocate Ralph Nader, who said Wasps should be recalled for an adjustment in their senses of humor.

Professor Malcolm Mullet of Harvard University is an anthropologist who has spent many years among the Wasps of Greenwich studying their fascinating customs and rituals. Dr. Mullet says that at first the Wasps were apprehensive and distrustful in his presence, but after years of growing familiarity, they came to accept him into even their most private ceremonies. What Dr. Mullet discovered is astounding and has revolutionized the outside world’s picture of these remarkable people.
In his report for National Geographic Magazine, richly illustrated with pictures of Wasps in their colorful costumes, Dr. Mullet investigates the central ritual of Wasp culture, the ceremony in which they gather to share food and the latest gossip of the tribe-- the dinner party.

The food is carefully prepared and served with a great flourish amid much favorable commentary. It is not, however, something any civilized person would want to eat. To the normal palate, accustomed as it is to the many joys of Big Macs, pizzas, Taco Bells, and General Tso’s Chicken, the ingestion of Wasp comestibles usually results in extensive gagging.

The marketing for these edibles is done at a local establishment by the women in fetching short cotton outfits called “tennis dresses.” Although no tennis is actually played in the supermarket, there is much lively conversation about it among the shoppers who gaily participate in the collective subterfuge that they are coming from or going to tennis matches.