Am I A Tourist Asshole Or A Local Asshole?

I relate to the annoying Americans and rude locals; do I have two countries or none?

I had an identity crisis inside a boulangerie the other day and it made me realize I’m going through expat puberty. (Also, I don’t like the word expat anymore than you do, but it’s a useful shorthand. Forgive me.)

I ride my bike past an Instagram famous boulangerie every day, I won’t say which because I’m about to talk some mess for the sake of a story. Each and every day there is a long line out the door of this boulangerie to the street comprised of 80% tourists and 20% locals. I am able to determine the composition of the queue through a highly scientific analysis of conversation volume, footwear, and an ever-present look of self consciousness on the part of the non-locals. Regardless, the size of the line makes me wonder if the bread and viennoiseries there are any good; a long line of locals means good, a long line of tourists can mean definitely not good, or mediocre but with a lot of New York Times or TikTok coverage.

This is NOT a croissant from the boulangerie in question, it’…