New York Fucking City, man. In these halcyon post-Bloomberg days, Manhattan is an opulent playground for the super rich; Spoiled rich kids in the 20s living off their parents noble names (…and trust-funds) are more prevalent than the goddamn subway rats.
As a semi long-time resident of the East Village, where doucheholes congregate like an invading army on Friday and Saturday night, I’m more afraid of a drunk jackass stumbling into me outside 13th Step at 2AM and trying to start a fight by claiming it was my fault than I am of getting mugged by some junkie criminal. Some would say it’s a good problem to have compared to the Manhattan of the 70s and 80s, but the entitled attitudes and nepotistic assholes who swarm the city like rabies can make it seriously obnoxious to live here. Especially on the weekends.
The weekends are when the douce masses come out in droves to overtake the city. Take, for example, this brat. A self-proclaimed “lawyer,” he drunkenly waves a Dunkin Donuts bag while a concerned citizen films his extremely drunk friend leaving boozy bottomless brunch spot Pranna in Murray Hill (you were once cool, Bagatelle). Hopefully, as Gothamist suggests, the photographer uses the video as evidence for Pranna over-serving to the neighborhood community board.
But this brat actually plays the “DO YOU KNOW WHO MY DAD IS?!?!?!?!?!?!” card, claiming his old man (who is in real estate, naturally) owns “half of Manhattan.” That’s doubtful. It’s also the NYC douche equivalent of the Frat Aliens saying “My dad owns a dealership!” like it actually means something:
The only thing he doesn’t do in the video is flash his platinum Amex card in front of the camera, just to show he has one.
Now that this kid is Internet-famous, the Bravo network will probably figure out how to make a reality television show about his social life. Girls in Kansas and Ohio and New Jersey will watch fawningly from their bedrooms, dreaming of lunch at Balthazar, followed by drinks on the Gansevoort Hotel roof before going home to the Tribeca lofts (paid for by their parents) of Barclays front-office princes who played lacrosse in the Patriot League. A few armed with daddy’s money after college will make this a reality, getting jobs as professional Facebook stalkers in our city’s lucrative public relations industry, which allows one to justify going out drinking every night under the guise of “work.” It’s not an alcohol problem if you’re #alwaysonmygrind.
I swear, if this kid ever sits on the couch next to Andy Cohen as a NYC glamour icon of class and dignity, life in New York City will truly not be worth living anymore.
Brooklyn and Queens: You’re our only hope.