. . . on another first-class flight, I see the despair and desperation in the eyes of those passing by me to get hauled away like cattle in economy.
They look tired, weak, and out of options. Every once in a while, there will be a child packed amongst thoselosers steer who has a spark in his eye. He’s old enough to notice the haves vs. have-nots, yet still young enough to have foolish ignorance thinking that he one day can have the same success. Ohh, child. You were born in a place for a reason. Know your lot in life.
And then I got to thinking: I bet this is exactly how most of you look as you pass by the haves. Some of you try to make eye-contact with me in hopes that I’ll acknowledge your existence. Others are too ashamed and bow their head - half out of respect and half out of embarrassment - as they graze to the back.
And I do feel guilty. Why should I, just because of my dashing looks, magnetic charisma, wide ranging intelligence, modesty, too many bank and investment accounts to keep track of, nearly too many properties to keep track of, hysterical humor, athleticism, style, coolness, and general belovedness, get anything that I want while you all are stuck living in a place you don’t like or selling the family home to downsize and afford the payments?
So how do you want me to act around you grazers? It’s clear that my hobbies and experiences are foreign - both literally and figuratively - to you. We don’t have much in common due to the drastic differences in means we each have. So what should I do?
I landed from Tokyo last night, and now I’m headed first-class to Minneapolis to hang with the Mets . . . yet again.
They look tired, weak, and out of options. Every once in a while, there will be a child packed amongst those
And then I got to thinking: I bet this is exactly how most of you look as you pass by the haves. Some of you try to make eye-contact with me in hopes that I’ll acknowledge your existence. Others are too ashamed and bow their head - half out of respect and half out of embarrassment - as they graze to the back.
And I do feel guilty. Why should I, just because of my dashing looks, magnetic charisma, wide ranging intelligence, modesty, too many bank and investment accounts to keep track of, nearly too many properties to keep track of, hysterical humor, athleticism, style, coolness, and general belovedness, get anything that I want while you all are stuck living in a place you don’t like or selling the family home to downsize and afford the payments?
So how do you want me to act around you grazers? It’s clear that my hobbies and experiences are foreign - both literally and figuratively - to you. We don’t have much in common due to the drastic differences in means we each have. So what should I do?
I landed from Tokyo last night, and now I’m headed first-class to Minneapolis to hang with the Mets . . . yet again.
