In the quaint little hamlet of Bar Harbor, Maine—a place renowned for its breathtaking vistas and perennially disinterested moose—local officials declared this week that they are officially America’s easternmost city. This titillating revelation sparked an immediate controversy: Are we really a “city,” or just a glorified vacation spot for wealthy tourists looking for overpriced lobster rolls and a picturesque Instagram backdrop? The announcement came after a heated debate among local politicians during a well-publicized meeting held in what appeared to be the town's only coffee shop, which also doubles as the Chamber of Commerce headquarters, an artisanal donut hub, and a spot for knitting enthusiasts to complain about the lack of Wi-Fi. “It’s about time we get the recognition we deserve,” proclaimed Mayor Edna “Green Dream” McGee while sipping a pumpkin spice latte so large it could serve as a small child’s swimming pool. “We offer the world’s most breathtaking view of the Atlantic, if you can see it through the haze of maple syrup artisanal fog.” But skepticism loomed over the recent title. City denizens, many of whom are preoccupied with dreams of becoming influencers themselves, took to parading to the local paper, The Bar Harbor Buzzkill, to express their thoughts. “Honestly, who gives a clam about being the easternmost city?” huffed local artist and professional beachcomber Max “No Plans” Johnson. “This is just another ploy to bring in people that will spend their entire vacation arguing over whether 'wicked good' is actually a compliment or just a weird thing we say when we want more butter on our lobster.” Unfazed by the feedback, the city has launched an extensive marketing campaign touting its new status, complete with catchy slogans like “Where the Sunrise is Just the Beginning of Your Regrets,” and “Easternmost City: Come for the Views, Stay Because You Got Stuck in Traffic.” Billboards depicting a sun rising over a blissfully unaware family with a caption reading, “Your Internet Will Return in 20 Minutes—Promise!” have already started popping up like dandelions in spring. Additionally, the local tourism board has proposed a vibrant array of events to celebrate the occasion. These include the “Lobstah Love-in,” where locals and tourists alike can compete to see who can wear the most ridiculous lobster costume while trying to discern if any of the crustaceans are still alive. Local business owners are also encouraged to host “Easternmost Cocktail Hours” where the drinks are made with 100% organic algae and a sprinkle of skepticism, ensuring everyone is covered in a light sheen of disappointment as they sip their overpriced concoctions. Meanwhile, as Bay Harbor officially embraced its newfound identity, conspiracy theories have begun to surface, suggesting that the real reason for the title is an elaborate scheme orchestrated by electricity companies to persuade unsuspecting tourists that candlelit romantic dinners are the new trend. “People will definitely want to stay in a place with no Wi-Fi due to scheduling constraints on their Instagram feeds,” hypothesized town historian Mildred “TripAdvisor” Thompson, who still hasn’t forgiven the town for not keeping up with her carefully curated vision of how Bar Harbor should exist under neon lights. As visitors flock to witness the magical phenomena of watching the sun rise over the horizon, locals are left to question whether they’re part of a new frontier or simply puppets in a play where the real stars are plush lobster toys and overpriced sunset cruises. With the world watching and their wallets ready, Bar Harbor residents prepare for the influx of tourists who will inevitably come to experience the “easternmost city” while wondering if they should’ve just stayed in. After all, there’s nothing quite like the tranquility of overpriced dining with a side of existential crisis while wondering if the bear they spotted in the distance truly exists or is merely a figment of their increasingly limited attention spans.