VIEWPOINT: So What?

By Ryszard Krasowski

“So you are going to the Hamptons,” said Kevin, the owner of a deli store in Brooklyn where I worked as a stock man.

“No. I am going to Southampton,” I said.

“Southampton is the Hamptons.”

“Oh!”

“There are other towns out there with the ‘Hampton’ in their names: Southampton, Westhampton, East Hampton, Bridgehampton, Hampton Bays,” Kevin explained to me. “The whole area is called ‘The Hamptons.’”

“Well, I didn’t know that. So, okay, I am going to the Hamptons,” I agreed.

“Big money over there.” Kevin made a characteristic gesture, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

So what? I wanted to ask him, but instead I was talking to myself.

I am not interested in money. Of course, I need it, as anybody else needs it. It makes life easier. But money doesn’t impress me. You may have a few dollars, a few thousand or a few million — so what?

With no money you are in trouble — and with big bucks you can’t sleep comfortably either. With a little money you can’t buy what you want and with an excess of the green power you don’t know what to spend it for. So living where the big money is doesn’t make any difference to me.

Before coming to the Hamptons, I was asked by my future employer whether I preferred to live in the city or in the country. Without a wink of the eyelid, I gave him an answer he expected to hear: “Of course I prefer the country!”

It was hard to find out whether he believed me or not — we were talking on the phone — but so what? Fighting for a better tomorrow, for to be or not to be, it wasn’t unfair to use a weapon that was within my reach. Besides, I knew that certain questions required certain answers.

The Hamptons surprised me with its appearance. The picture that I always associated with the country — fields full of crops, cows, horses, pigs, chickens and farmers — disappeared somehow. Instead, there were small towns and villages with main streets in the middle of them. Along those streets, nestled one to another like lovers, there were pretty little stores, boutiques, bars and cafes.

Not far from the center of the villages, along shadowy alleys, paths, roads, and lanes, whatever their names were, hidden behind different kind of bushes, hedges, trees and fences, there were beautiful houses, mansions, villas and residences.

It was a strange countryside — but so what? I live in America now, and I have to get accustomed to it.

The Hamptons astounded me not only with its appearance but most of all with the people who lived there and those who had been coming to visit that place. Picking up the local papers and thumbing through the pages of them, I found out what was so special about the Hamptons: I lived in the “Eastern Hollywood”! Big movie stars, movie directors, singers, composers, writers … all kind of artists lived next to me, and ... so what? They walked using their legs, they had hands to shake them with their friends, they had eyes to see, heads to turn when they saw something that caught their attention, and they even wore long or short pants or skirts.

So what was so special in the fact that one of the famous hit a post with his head while walking on the street in East Hampton? So what? He is a human being and sometimes may be lost in his thoughts. He learned his lesson, and next time he’ll be watching where he is going. But the local paper wrote about that event as if it was something unusual.

A few days after his meeting with the hard thing, I was crossing Main Street in Southampton with my girlfriend on my back. We had fun, nobody got hurt — but none of the local papers wrote about that event. Probably, there weren’t any journalists on the street at that time. What a pity!

Another day, I read that another famous person was looking for a house in the Hamptons. So what? I look for a house, too. Everybody needs a place to live. The local paper wrote about her search for a nest as if it was something unusual.

Reading that big news, I wondered whether I might go to her and try to borrow a cup of sugar, for I had just run out of it. Even if I would pass the gate with bodyguards, she probably wouldn’t help me, because as I know celebrities they are afraid of sugar as the devil is afraid of holy water. But I would do that anyway, banking on a story about that event in the local paper.

Sometimes the famous get hungry and decide to go to a restaurant. So what? If I am hungry I do exactly the same. So does anybody else. The local paper didn’t forget to make a note of that event, but I didn’t notice anything about whether the famous was using a fork and a knife, whether he was using his hands to hold those utensils or whether he had crushed his meal in his mouth before swallowing it.

The life goes on in the Hamptons, and every day brings new, unusual facts worthy of publication in the local papers. That’s what makes this place so special — unusual people and their unusual behavior.

I’ve been living in the Hamptons for quite some time now, and I am very happy to be here. It seems to be an interesting place full of unexpected events, not only on the streets, in stores, bars and restaurants, but also in the local papers.

Walking on the streets in the Hamptons, from time to time I see those unusual people doing the same — they walk, talk, watch, wave, smile and even they are dressed. So what? They all are like me.

I am writing this piece hoping that someone will read it, but it also may happen that nobody will be interested in it. So what? I enjoyed writing it anyway.

Ryszard Krasowski is a resident of Hampton Bays.