You’re in apple picking country with your family and friends. It’s a beautiful sunny day and together you’re walking down to an orchard along a quiet country road. In the distance, at the crest of a soft hill, another family approaches. You walk towards each other for several minutes. There’s no avoiding it, your paths will eventually cross. And it’s all good! You’ve already passed others along the way, everyone’s friendly. Some people even stopped to pet your dog. When the family in the distance finally nears yours, your family greets them with a smile. You add your usual -“Hi! Gorgeous day isn’t it?” greeting in classic dad style. Their response, in unison, is deadpan silence. Every member of this inter-generational family gives you nothing but a dull hateful stare. A few of the men look you up and down, one even spits on the ground in your wife’s direction.
It’s the kind of reaction you would expect racists to give a family of apple picking “city folk” in some redneck swale off a forgotten highway. A look you’ve only ever seen in games full of disaffected carnies who swing cow femurs at radioactive dogs in the shadow of a rusted Ferris wheel. The family is reminiscent of an in-bred religious cult beholding “corrupted” apple picking “outsiders” for the first time since exiting their bunker. You tell yourself they must have just suffered some kind of terrible personal trauma but, you’re rationalizing like a “townie” now. It’s a reaction so hostile your wife can’t help but shoot you a look as she whispers -“My God, what was that?”. Your young son kicks a rock aside and says to you -“Dad, what’s wrong with them?” a little too loud for comfort. You pull him in close as you glance over your shoulder and shorten the leash on your dog. Where are you? Tourism brochures say it’s the friendliest place you can imagine! An autumnal paradise of folksy sights and sounds! You’re in the Atlantic Bubble now.
