2003-10-05 @ 4:57 p.m.
|Ever notice how every Dollar Store you ever go into has country western music playing? What's the deal with that? I don't like country western music and I resent the implication that if you frequent those places you're probably also a fan of NASCAR, plan your vacations around Dollywood and have a velvet Elvis painting hanging in your living room.
People make a lot of assumptions about you when you're poor. That you're lazy. You're stupid. You're unmotivated. You don't have taste. You don't understand large words. But of course, I may be just as guilty as them, thinking that's how rich people are. :-)
What's funny is the undercurrent between rich people and poor people. Let's take Married Guy's wife for instance. Her parents had money. They lived in a nice, frou frou house. They weren't the Trumps (although I think Married Guys wife probably said, IVana this, IVana that a lot when she was growing up and still does). They were originally from Connecticut, oh wait, let me put my pinkie up when I say that, Connecticut. (I only say that because that's how SHE says it, like its ultra special to be from there).
She knows I'm poor. Once the rent is paid I live on $231/mo. She drops that much on one trip to Home Depot. There's nothing on the surface of our "relationship" (gulp, do I even have the right to call it that?) to suggests that she thinks she's superior, but there is a whole lot of flexing going on underneath. I got the house. I got the SUV. I got the vacations. I got the trendy clothes. I traded up on husbands (her last husband was a starving artist). I watch all this sort of bemused. Yes, there are days I'd like to beat her senseless with one of her leopard spotted clogs (God, they are so obnoxious). But mostly I watch her thinking, chick, if you only knew.
Why? Because I grew up rich. We had the fancy cars. Vacation homes at Lake Tahoe. Private schools. My Dad's last house sold for over a half million dollars in California. I grew up privileged too. And there are times I really want to scream this at her, but it wouldn't really be that satisfying. And I would look pretty psychotic.
But with her the feeling has been ongoing. I cleaned their house for a few months several years ago and I definitely felt it during that. The I'm from Connecticut and you're on food stamps thing. And it really stunk, so I finally quit...But only after she complained to Married Guy one day that I had only stayed there 3.5 hours instead of 4 hours. The entire house WAS cleaned top to bottom, but she wanted me to physically be there for the allotted time.
Anyways, I guess I don't understand why people's worth is based on where they live and what kind of car they drive. When I had money, I never looked like I had money. When I had money, I shared what I had. Several of my childhood friends were less fortunate so I was always bugging my parents to let them come over, and to let them join us on vacations at Lake Tahoe. Maybe a small part of it was because I wanted some company, but I also wanted my friends to have what I had. Why shouldn't they? I'm not going to look at somebody and think, well gee, just because you have 2 less zeroes on your pay check, get the hell away from me.
I remember one time I got up the courage to respond to a personal ad on AOL. The guy wrote a note back and said Thanks, but I didn't make enough money. I felt like writing back and saying well gee thanks, but it doesn't sound like you have enough brain cells for me, but I restrained myself. I used to be able to do that.
So yes, I will admit I am jealous of people with money. Not because I have an incredible lust for a large bank account, but only because I don't want to have to listen to the Ode to Billy Bob's Dollar Store for the 300th freakin' time.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty