When people ask me where I live, I say "South Williamsburg." Then, inevitably, in an inept and snobbish attempt to distinguish my neighborhood from Fancy Williamsburg, I add: "Where the Jews live."
Then I get even more awkward, usually because of the startled look on my conversation partner's face. What follows is an increasingly ridiculous and offensive ramble:
"The Hasids!" I blurt. "I'm Jewish. Well, half Jewish. But I live in a super Hasidic neighborhood. They hate me because I'm the wrong kind of Jew. But not all Hasids feel like that -- just the Satmar, that's one of the sects, Hasidism has sects. I mean, sects, like sect. Not sex. Anyway, that's the sect that lives in my neighborhood. And maybe they don't even hate me, I mean, I just feel like they know that I'm Jewish and I have tattoos so that I can't be buried in Jewish cemetery, I guess? Anyway, those Jews. I guess I also live where other kinds of Jews live, because I'm Jewish, so wherever I live is where Jews live? But, um, anyway, HASIDS."
