Are you rich? Then I might not like you.

I dislike most rich people because they tend to be pretentious, boring and full of themselves. I know I’m grossly generalizing, but … I don’t care. Sorry if this means you.

However, I’m sure this wouldn’t apply to you, dear reader – whatever your income – because you’re currently perusing my column, which shows that you are in fact a fine person of taste and deep discernment.

And thank you for keeping me employed.

When you grow up poor and working class like I did, it’s easy to resent people with money, because you’re wearing ugly homemade clothing while they’re sporting the latest styles from Paris. (Admittedly, sometimes those are uglier than your homemade frocks, but they’re from Paris.)

You’re standing in the sun, waiting for the bus, while they’re zipping by in their shiny German cars, throwing empty bottles of Perrier out the window. One of them hits you, but luckily it’s only plastic. You hold onto it so you can recycle it for a nickel while shouting “Eat dirt, you rich entitled weasel face” at the car speeding away.

You get a $20 gift certificate to a fancy department store. You walk in and realize there’s nothing you can buy there for $20 except a canvas shopping bag with the store logo on it. Meanwhile, you feel sure everyone is staring at you because they know you don’t belong there.

Your friend with money invites you to meet up at a swanky restaurant, but you’re too embarrassed to hand your ratty old car over to the parking valet, so you drive four blocks away and park on the street. Which is ridiculous, because obviously the parking valet isn’t rich either, or he wouldn’t be parking cars for a living.

The funny thing about this is that many rich people started out poor, and worked like the dickens to end up with a pile of loot. I often hear people say, “Oh, so and so is such a nice person,” and I’m always suspicious of that statement.

I’m old as dirt now, and, in my long experience, people do not usually get rich by being nice. They get rich by being ruthless maniacs who work harder than everyone else, and they will do whatever it takes, including firing Bob Cratchit on Tiny Tim’s birthday.

When they have finally achieved Richie Rich status, they have accepted that most people will kowtow to them, laugh at their lame jokes, go along with their plans – even the stupid ones – and provide an endless string of empty compliments.

“The egg you spilled on your tie at breakfast this morning goes perfectly with your chic ensemble, oh brilliant one,”  is the type of comment you often hear around these folks. “Yes, I think getting in the Ferrari and driving 120 miles an hour to the spa sounds like a fabulous idea.”

This type of sycophancy makes them boring because they don’t have to even try to be interesting or likable. They just have to acquire a pile of money and, suddenly, they are Jerry Seinfeld, Beyoncé and Mother Teresa, all rolled into one.

Admittedly, I’m prejudiced because I chose a profession that’s notoriously poorly paid. Yes, I’ve ridden on a fire engine and met celebrities. I’ve gone to glittering parties – with a pen and notebook in my hand. But I’d be embarrassed to tell you about my tiny paycheck after a lifetime of so-called journalistic endeavors.

I do, however, have two friends who are rich and both of them got that way later in life, through their own cleverness and hard work. They still live like normal people which is why I am able to actually like them. Neither of them has ever bought a $25,000 purse.

This came to mind because I once met a man who owns a store that sells safes. And he had just sold a safe to a woman who wanted it to lock up her expensive purses. Apparently, she was afraid her maid might steal one. What a terrifying thought.

Personally, I don’t have a maid, but I do have a housekeeper who helps me out occasionally since I’m gimpy and old.

Luckily, I don’t have any expensive purses, because I bought most of them in downtown L.A. And if Dora wanted one of them, that would be just fine with me.

These days, I find that I no longer envy rich people, except that they have money to travel. When I walk past them in their lie-down first-class cubicles on the plane to Cambodia, yes, I wouldn’t mind switching places. Other than that, you’d be surprised how mundane and un-glamorous their lives often are.

It is true that money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy freedom, so you can pay someone else to scrub your sink and pick up your dry cleaning. You’re not stressed out when your boss complains that you’re taking time off to go to your kid’s school.

For the most part, I’ll stick with my friends who shop at Target and drive well-worn cars. Though occasionally, I do wish I had a rich friend who wasn’t annoying and liked to travel.

Meanwhile, I’m forced to be satisfied with a job that I love, a comfortable-if-cluttered house, a 2001 Toyota Corolla and people I care about. Not bad life, overall, really.

Want to contact me? My email is [email protected]. I especially love it when you tell me what I’m doing wrong.

Related links

Looking for a safe to keep my Gatorade
12 reasons to have a dog instead of a kid
I quit being my kids’ maid
Frumpy Mom: Costco is forcing me to get another house
Women who torture themselves with shoes

Related Articles