Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Rich Adjacent

The problem with living in a rich adjacent neighborhood is that sometimes you have to be near rich people. Whether you interact with them or not is usually their choice, but it is a constant risk you should be aware of when looking to buy or rent a home.

I'm pretty good at avoiding them. The skill has come from years of practicing being/looking poor by legitimately being so.

Jaime is a real threat to the system, though, because he might actually be a rich person. I don't mean that in a "has money" sort of way but in a "true essence of spirit" sort of way. We discovered this pretty recently on a trip to Aldi where he didn't want to touch anything because all the products "looked dusty" and all the customers "looked sad."

As a result, he has no rich person radar, so he'll just converse with them willy nilly and then walk away from the interaction wondering why his heart hurts and he feels self conscious about his hair.

I've over-compensated for his lack of awareness by using my class warfare training in deciding where we shop, eat and walk.

That's why it's taken me so long to join a gym.

I wanted to join the community center in our actual community, but it doesn't have a pool or sauna. Of course the community center in the rich adjacent neighborhood has both PLUS a Turkish bath. Goddammit.

We decided to try it before we buy it and spent $14 to swim laps next to six senior citizen ladies doing water aerobics. Because of the class, only one lap lane was open, so we asked the older gentlemen (assuming he was waiting for his wife) if we could share. He agreed and the three of us did our very best.

We returned the next week and begrudgingly paid way too much for a family pass reminding ourselves it was cheaper than diabetes and rascal scooters. The same class was going on, so we slipped into the same lane with the same old guy and started our laps.

A couple in, I noticed the old guy had gotten out to talk to the teenage life guard. He wasn't as old as I'd remembered. They were staring at us, but I kept swimming knowing Jaime had no idea what was going on. Bless him.

The old guy shoved his athletes feet into his flip flops and stomped off while I stopped to talk to the pimply lifeguard. My question was going to be, "Excuse me, what nights are all lanes open to swim?" But I only got out, "Excuse me," before that little shit interrupted me with, "You know, you really should ask before you start circle swimming. It's just common courtesy." Oh lawd, the fire. The way he said it made every hair on my body stand up straight, and I had not shaved before I shoved myself into my bathing suit.

I wondered if the community center would give me back my money if I got kicked out for calling a junior in high school a "power starved, squeaky voiced shrivel dick with scoliosis." They wouldn't.

I ignored him instead and told poor, sweet, ignorant Jaime to keep swimming. Eventually, I noticed a crop of pudgy, white, middle-aged men forming around the hot tub glaring at us and realized they were waiting to swim laps in the one goddamn lane that was open. Not one of them asked us to share which we would have happily done.

I pulled myself out of the pool and slid into the hot tub. Jaime followed me even though he wasn't finished swimming. I explained to him that that bitchy rich guy had told that bitchy rich kid on us and that all these other rich bitches were waiting to use that lane without speaking to each other. His face dropped as he put it all together, "But that's stupid," he said.

I know, baby. I know. But that's what happens when rich people leave their houses and walk into a building with "community" written on it.

We were too sad to use the Turkish bath, but on our way out, we stopped by an artificial tree that had all these tags with anonymous people's needs this holiday season. Most were socks and underwear, so I told Jaime to grab a couple and that I'd pick them up the next day.

The rich bitch who told on us had just come out of the locker room and appeared to be waiting to confront us with a smug look on his face. As Jaime tore one of the tags away, the guy seemed to think better of it and exited the building.

That's right, walk away you scroogy mother fucker cause we're better people than you! You didn't grab any tags you rich bitch, and we just took three! Not one, not two but three! You probably come every damn day and got some tags on those days, but not today, asshole! I just saw you grab exactly none you bloated pig!

I looked down at the tag Jaime selected. This rich bitch chose a blender. In a sea of socks, underwear and gloves, he chose the one tag with a kitchen appliance on it!? Gee whiz, must be nice to just reach into your crotch sack of gold coins and go flinging them around town, Daddy McWarbucks.

I wondered for a minute if I could wrap our blender that we found in the foyer of our first apartment in KC with a note on it that said "free." But it had probably been used to make meth, and I couldn't live with that on my conscience, so I went to the store and bought the second cheapest one.

Who's the rich bitch now?