Click to enlarge the map, so you can see how few red dots there are on this population density map of Maine that I lifted from Wikimedia.
While I often extol the virtues of Maine, there are a few things that are...uh...uncomfortable...about living in such a small - population-wise - state. Here is a hypothetical tale of a reason why perhaps Maine can have an embarrassing smallness.
Socially Tiny, Geographically Large
July 20, 2006
Once upon a time, this girl I know named Mattie O'Bride, got a random phone call at 1 AM, early morning. Classic case of Wednesday Night Drunk Dialing. For her it was nice to be a receiver occasionally. It cancels out the embarrassing giving, somewhat. This DD was from the infamous Ray Eriksen. Mattie hadn't realized that Ray had her phone number. Who is Ray? Oh, well, here’s Mattie's story about that:
One thing I hate about my lovely beloved State of Maine is, despite its large spacial mass (relative to the rest of New England), it is the tiniest space, socially speaking. Much less than 6 degrees of separation.
Say for instance, you’re really enjoying your St Patrick’s Day. You’re wearing a green miniskirt, a green tank top and a pretty lace blouse over that, and green wedge heels. Anyway, you look really cute. Oh, and glow-in-the-dark Guinness buttons strategically placed on your shirt, as a joke, because it's St Patrick's Day. Anyway, so say you’re doing that, and you’re really Irish, so you’re celebrating the holiday with an Irish Car Bomb or four and a couple of or a couple dozen Guinness. Then, in your college town, at your college bar, 100 miles away from any place where someone would have learned about Romeo and Juliet from you during your brief stint as an English teacher, you sit down at a table which is filled with a bunch of cute guys who are about your age– mid-twenties. You and the guys are getting along swell. You’re really pretty. They’re really cute. Or at least that’s how you think because it’s St Patrick’s Day and you’re a good Irish lassssss who’s a wee bit tipsy-ish and therefore beer goggled and overly confident, sort of (or totally bombed…) Anyway, one conversation leads to another and soon enough, the mystery of degrees of separation are uncovered. To your horror, the one you’ve been flirting with quite a bit, who has bought several drinks for you, is in fact
1.) the older brother of someone you taught
2.) the son of one of someone you used to work with
3.) the old high school boyfriend of someone you currently work with
Oh well, you say, because you’re filter’s a smidge clogged with Bailey’s.
The night progresses further, continuing on with you and a bunch of other people back at his house, complete with cocktail hour(s), dance party, mini-concert by you, pukefest on bathroom floor and (God this is gross) make out session with guy who is not only 1-3 of the above but also 4.) someone else’s boyfriend. Throughout all of this, he has drunk dialed his brother, his mother and his old high school girlfriend and tried to make you say “hi” but, thank goodness, you won’t. Nonetheless, because he prefaces each post-midnight call to his friends and family (who know you in a manner that really doesn't gel with drunk dialing at 2 AM) by saying, “You’ll never guess who I’m hanging out with right now! I’m with [insert my name here]!!!”, they still know you’re guilty of being a complete lush on St Patty’s Day. (You don’t think they know about the making out part.
You are left to blush if you ever see them again and curse the teeny tiny closeness of the lovely State of Maine.
So, yeah, that was weird for her.
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