I hob-nobbed with the 1% a bit a couple of weeks back (technically, I AM part of a 1%; just not the 1% ... probably somewhere around the 30th percentile or so). It was an interesting experience, to say the least.
A friend of mine was getting married (and since has, costing me $20 in my ill-advised wager overestimating the persuasive skills of the lovely and seductive Bambi, who was “catering” a pre-nuptial "luncheon"*), and I was invited to participate in a round of golf at a local private country club in advance of the big day. Boy howdy, I was as excited as cousin’ Hoss before the pie-eatin’ contest down to the county fair!
I was heading out with another friend of mine, whom I believe has more experience in interacting with that stratum of society, and I have to
Friend With Whom I Was Heading Out: “So, umm … it’s sort of required that you wear a shirt …”As it turns out, it wasn’t a joke, but I supposed that I could suspend my fiscally responsible approach to golf course hydration for just that one day.
Dead Acorn: “Well, duh … I’m not completely white trash.”
FWWIWHO: “Let me finish, please. You need to wear a shirt with a collar.”
DA: “No problem! In fact, I don’t even HAVE a collar-less Hawaiian shirt.”
FWWIWHO: “*sigh*. Ok, I guess. And you can’t bring a case of Schlitz hidden in your bag like you usually do, as the club pro is playing with us, and we, you know, might want to show just a BIT of respect and gratitude for them providing this opportunity.”
DA: “This is a fucking joke, right? RIGHT?”
So we pulled into the parking lot, and removed our golf bags from the back of the car. To my astonishment, it was no more than a minute before two young hooligans, obviously gangsta ruffians, judging from the fact that they wore similar colors, approached us, and attempted to steal our clubs! Their cocky nonchalance was unsettling, as they aggressively said “Good afternoon, gentlemen!” and began to walk off with our property. They may as well have said “it’s OUR shit now, right? You got something to say, old man? Yeah, didn’t think so.”
Luckily, my friend is quite a large fellow, and has obviously dealt with this type of situation before, because, sensing my befuddlement and anger at such an outrageous act, he said (with well directed intent toward the thieves) “Hold on, there, Dead Acorn. These young men are just carrying our clubs up to our cart. Isn’t that right right, gentlemen?” They both nodded nervously, and sure enough, I watched them load our bags onto a golf cart near the clubhouse. Having a large friend can be handy. (The young thugs were obviously impressed with me as well, as I could see them looking at the various clubs in my bag in awe – they almost seemed to giggle uncontrollably in their amazement with regard to my eclectic assemblage of hardware.)
On the other hand, I can’t say he’s absolutely virtuous, because we walked in to sign up, and he grabbed a handful of tees and a divot-fixer-thingy from the counter and walked off without paying! His explanation of "no, dude, it's free. Trust me on this." did little to assuage my associative guilt. I know that it doesn't sound exactly like a Brinks robbery, but I still felt a little uneasy. My guilt was only compounded by the fact that we drove over to the driving range and he seemed to have no issue with hitting a bag of balls that someone else had obviously paid for and had left on the range while running off to the loo or the snack bar. I’m still struggling with my mixed feelings concerning his behavior.
Criminal acts aside, the afternoon went very well, and the repressive elite overlords that ran the club pulled off their required act of appearing to be extremely nice and accommodating to the commoners with admirable skill. The next time I storm a palace in an attempt to reinstate fairness and justice for the bottom 99% of the population who actually do the things that make the world work, I will do so with fond remembrance of that day.
The golfers among them shall die the quickest.
* Tolly not true.