"Gucci, Gucci, Goo!" There I was, watching television, and I noticed a pattern becoming more evident.
Certain ads, repeatedly played through the evening, were beginning to genuinely annoy me.
Certain ads, repeatedly played through the evening, were beginning to genuinely annoy me.
Was I just getting grumpy in my middle-age? Not enough bran? It seemed to me that my anger was misplaced, that it had no basis in fact. Until, that is, my anger triggered a memory.
My anger is directed at companies/individuals who start off rich and end up richer as a result of their understanding of finances and the average shmoe's lack of understanding. No one is getting fleeced here; there's no slight of hand, no deception. It's just the wealthy playing the game they have played for so long; it's called, " let the guy who's cash-poor twist in the wind a little, then rustle a couple of bucks under his nose. Buy him out of his equity/legal settlement. Trade a little money now for a lot of money later."
The guys who offer "refi" loans. The fellows who ask you why you should wait for payments, why not get a lump sum of your settlement. The guy who extols the virtues of filing 'chapter 13'. How about the shops that give you cash against an anticipated paycheck? (Remember Jimmy Stewart in 'It's A Wonderful Life'?
"Can't you understand what's happening here? Don't you see what's happening? Potter isn't selling.Potter's buying! And why? Because we're panicky and he's not.That's why. He's picking up some bargains..")
It's our own fault, after all, our lack of cash-savvy, our naivete'. But damn it, it's no reason to pick a guy's pocket, just because he's so pickable.
So I wondered who had it in for these girls. Who was just intimate enough with the office that our number was handy to them? Our office was located around the higher-income suburbs, and that might make this a local girl.
I got myself a blank cassette, and the next time she called, I had the girls put her on 'speaker' and recorded the whole conversation, just let her vent and babble along. All her classic shtick; the Chinese girl routine, the 'I could get you fired", "my dad is president", etc. Now, I understand this would not hold up as evidence in court, but a lawsuit was not what I was after. It was to end the annoyance of the pest.
One day, I come in to work. My boss shakes my cassette at me; "That girl called again last night, you know. I told her, 'hey, I've got something you should hear' and played the tape. She hung up and didn't call back no more!"
I had her.
It was the daughter of the company president.
How did I know that? Local girl, dad is president, familiar with and able to buy high-priced fashions, very materially-oriented. Dad probably had the office number on speed-dial. She was bored (maybe resented) being left alone at home on the weekends, which was also a clue. If she was too young to make her own plans while the family was out of the house that would have put her at just about the right age.
I made a number of assumptions. Maybe I jumped to a lot of conclusions. One was that we, the nameless unwashed masses, were the topic of discussion around the family dinner table. That there was a sense that there is a fundamental difference between them and us, a gap that would never be bridged. We had our purpose, like a boot-wipe would, but we didn't really have the respect of the 'first family', as it were.
(Gee, I'm sorry, but this is the only pic I could find of the unwashed masses. Although the speaker in this image happens to be Goebbels, in no way do I mean to compare my experience at that job with a whole country being led around by the nose by a backward, dictatorial, fascist elitist government. Really.)
That hurt. And it opened my eyes. That's why no one can ever convince me otherwise. I've been told that the wealthy are among the very hardest-working, thrifty-but-generous and gracious people one would ever want to meet. Philanthropists (did I spell that right?) all. That may be true; I don't think I have any in my circle to ask. But these folks who are a little lower on the rungs, like the upper-middle class (or upper-upper, if you like) are like this; they'll see you work like a dog, they won't speak into your life or mentor you regarding your erroneous attitudes toward money, they will never really tell you you're doing a great job and they will be sure to satiate themselves and their own at the trough before you even get a crumb. And sometimes, just for sport, they will deny you that as well.
(The always-fashionable 'little black dress'; take special note of the lack of a head to direct its actions . . .)
And what happened to the tape? Well, I gave it to our president's assistant. Told him all about the situation, because I thought it was uncool for someone to toy with another person's livelihood. He assured me he would take care of it, and boy, did he.
The tape disappeared, and the matter was never discussed again.
My memory; it's a sad tale, but not too long in the telling. At least the way I'm going to tell it.
It all started one evening at my job. The girls who answered the phones started getting unusual crank calls. Repeat calls, mostly on Friday evenings, Saturday evenings. A youngish teen trying to convince them she was Chinese. (News flash, and I'll bet you didn't know this; you don't have to actually understand Chinese to smell a phony.) Annoyance calls, mostly. The girls would be cordial, professional, polite, and hang up. She upped the ante. Told them matter-of-factly that she could see to it that they would be fired. Called them vile names. It was easy to see that she was venting; the calls were a weird sort of release for her.
Nothing they would do to stop her worked. And it got like it gets when a persistent pest gets in your face a little too much, I became curious and decided to work on it a bit.
Here, if you hadn't already guessed, is where it gets interesting.
Over the course of time she said alternately that her dad was president- of Benetton, and of Patagonia. Both fashion companies were popular with girls whose parents could afford them. (Remember Benetton? Made a name for themselves by creating controversial ad campaigns? One is included here, for your enrichment.)
So I wondered who had it in for these girls. Who was just intimate enough with the office that our number was handy to them? Our office was located around the higher-income suburbs, and that might make this a local girl.I got myself a blank cassette, and the next time she called, I had the girls put her on 'speaker' and recorded the whole conversation, just let her vent and babble along. All her classic shtick; the Chinese girl routine, the 'I could get you fired", "my dad is president", etc. Now, I understand this would not hold up as evidence in court, but a lawsuit was not what I was after. It was to end the annoyance of the pest.
One day, I come in to work. My boss shakes my cassette at me; "That girl called again last night, you know. I told her, 'hey, I've got something you should hear' and played the tape. She hung up and didn't call back no more!"
I had her.
It was the daughter of the company president.
How did I know that? Local girl, dad is president, familiar with and able to buy high-priced fashions, very materially-oriented. Dad probably had the office number on speed-dial. She was bored (maybe resented) being left alone at home on the weekends, which was also a clue. If she was too young to make her own plans while the family was out of the house that would have put her at just about the right age.
I made a number of assumptions. Maybe I jumped to a lot of conclusions. One was that we, the nameless unwashed masses, were the topic of discussion around the family dinner table. That there was a sense that there is a fundamental difference between them and us, a gap that would never be bridged. We had our purpose, like a boot-wipe would, but we didn't really have the respect of the 'first family', as it were.
(Gee, I'm sorry, but this is the only pic I could find of the unwashed masses. Although the speaker in this image happens to be Goebbels, in no way do I mean to compare my experience at that job with a whole country being led around by the nose by a backward, dictatorial, fascist elitist government. Really.)That hurt. And it opened my eyes. That's why no one can ever convince me otherwise. I've been told that the wealthy are among the very hardest-working, thrifty-but-generous and gracious people one would ever want to meet. Philanthropists (did I spell that right?) all. That may be true; I don't think I have any in my circle to ask. But these folks who are a little lower on the rungs, like the upper-middle class (or upper-upper, if you like) are like this; they'll see you work like a dog, they won't speak into your life or mentor you regarding your erroneous attitudes toward money, they will never really tell you you're doing a great job and they will be sure to satiate themselves and their own at the trough before you even get a crumb. And sometimes, just for sport, they will deny you that as well.
(The always-fashionable 'little black dress'; take special note of the lack of a head to direct its actions . . .)And what happened to the tape? Well, I gave it to our president's assistant. Told him all about the situation, because I thought it was uncool for someone to toy with another person's livelihood. He assured me he would take care of it, and boy, did he.
The tape disappeared, and the matter was never discussed again.
