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So, I'm driving through Connecticut, and I notice something strange. The honking—it's way too polite. I mean, in my city, honking is an art form, a form of expression. It's our way of saying, "Hey, I'm here, and I'm in a hurry!" But in Connecticut, it's like they've taken a course on polite honking. It's not a blaring, aggressive honk. It's more like a gentle reminder that you exist. I honked at someone, and they rolled down their window to apologize. I'm thinking, "Am I in Connecticut or the nicest demolition derby ever?"
I bet their road rage involves saying things like, "Excuse me, sir, but I believe you cut me off back there. I would appreciate it if you could refrain from doing so in the future. Thank you."
And don't even get me started on their road rage hand gestures. It's probably just a friendly wave with a hint of disappointment.
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So, I was talking to this guy from Connecticut, and he starts bragging about the four seasons they have. Four! I'm from a place that has two seasons: hot and not so hot. I asked him, "What's your favorite season?" He said, "Oh, definitely fall." I'm thinking, "Of course, because even the seasons in Connecticut are overachievers. They have a favorite season." But then he starts dissing winter. Says it's too cold. I'm like, "Dude, you chose to live in a place called Connecticut. It's not called Sunnyland or Tropicville. It's Connecticut! Winter comes with the territory, like taxes and confusing highway exits."
I imagine their winter survival kit includes a map, a snow shovel, and a manual on how to build an igloo. Meanwhile, I'm over here in my two-season state, where our winter survival kit consists of complaining about the temperature dropping below 70 degrees.
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You ever notice how time moves differently in Connecticut? I swear, it's like they have their own time zone. I asked a local what time it was, and he said, "Well, it's almost 5, but in Connecticut time, it's practically tomorrow." I didn't know whether to set my watch forward or invest in a time machine. And their traffic signals—I'm convinced they're in cahoots with the time warp. You're sitting at a red light, and it feels like an eternity. I half-expected the guy in the car next to me to age a year while waiting for the green light. It's like, "Come on, Connecticut, I've got places to be! I can't spend my entire life at this intersection."
I bet if you ask someone from Connecticut about their weekend plans, they'll say, "Oh, you know, just catching up on yesterday's to-do list.
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You know, I recently visited Connecticut, and I gotta say, that place is a real puzzle. I mean, they call it CT. Not even Connecticut—just CT. Are they in such a hurry that they can't say the full name? It's like they're running on Connecticut time, and every second counts. I tried to ask for directions, and someone just shouted, "Go west on I-84, and you'll hit the CT zone. Good luck!" I swear, people in Connecticut are so efficient; they probably have drive-through voting booths. You roll up, cast your ballot, and they hand you a coffee as a reward. It's like, "Congratulations! You participated in democracy. Here's your medium latte!"
And don't get me started on their license plates. CT again! Is it a license plate or a secret code? I half-expected to see a QR code instead of numbers. I bet if you scan it, it leads you to a YouTube tutorial on how to parallel park like a boss. Connecticut, the only place where even the license plates are overachievers.
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