Apostles of the Glorious Rich

archived from June 26th, 2007

I was watching CNN this morning, its saccharin spin takes the bitterness out of the coffee like the sugar used to in my leaner days. They did a filler piece about Goldman Sachs posting the highest profits ever in the history of history.  These CEOs will be burying themselves in pyramids soon enough with anti-chambers stuffed with gold and other “bling” and living serfs to keep them company on their first class trip to Duat.

The anchor person was quizzing the “expert” commentator about the 57 million dollar bonus paid to Goldman Sachs’ CEO and the rather paltry seeming 25 million dollar bonuses shelled out to 50 other executives as well. 

Before she could finish the comment that would have lead to some kind of fluff question, the “expert” jumped in with the glee of a zealot.  He said “I know where you’re going with this…the whole…class warfare thing.”

Now, it’s hard to explain the depth of idolatry this man exuded simply talking about Goldman Sachs’ CEO, but I was, interestingly enough, reminded of a time when I was in college and working in the catering department for a local hotel in Richmond, Va.  One night, both of the conference rooms were rented for an awards conference for an Amway group.  They simply pulled back the divider wall between the two in order to accommodate the 300 or so preening and pecking, shifty-eyed guests.

There I am, after the serving of the chicken, fish or meat dinner and the constantly refilling of the wine glasses, waiting on the side of the room so I could go home to my crappy college student apartment and drink myself into my next missed class, and this distinct hush came over the room.  They had apparently announced the next speaker, who was, as far as I could tell, the arisen Christ of the new mammon dawn.

Amway then was a prophetic microcosm of America today. The difference is that then, Amway was understood by most to be, pretty much a joke:  A pathetically shallow gaggle compelled to achieve self respect via external trivialities. And now, they are our leaders.

If you have never been to an Amway convention, it is truly a spectacle to behold.  Like watching a pack of dogs and trying to figure out the pecking order with them, it is easy to tell just where on the pyramid each person lies.  They gravitate toward those higher on the food chain; subserviently milling about, doe-eyeing whomever currently resides above them in the chain, while blatantly dismissing those doe-eyed underlings flocking about them, vying for their attentions. Geese in their Sunday best, with shinny starter-house-gold  distractions, flipping and flapping over one another for bread crumbs on Sunday by the lake.

As I wall-leaned in the shadows with the other college-class servants watching this Discovery Channel exposé playing out before us, the hushed awe that befell this crowd was almost miraculous to behold.

He was the top of the Southeast Regional pyramid.  The almost grand Pooh-Bah in a room full of pooh.  And the rest, they stared doe-eyed and listened with a reverence not often found in cathedrals to the ten minute, adlibbed, high-school pep-rally motivational drivel he offered.  And they dared not even sip from their cups for fear of being viewed as disrespectful to this champion of a man.

His gold was real and plentiful, his suit was Italian and shiny.  He could have read them his electric bill and they would have pondered it and debated it’s meanings for a year.

He closed big, with a rousing “Go team!” and the place erupted in a standing ovation and middle aged high-fives. 

Startled out of my daydreams by the ovation, I made eye contact with a woman standing at the table nearest me.  The ovation was going on for an uncomfortable amount of time, and she held my gaze for almost all of it.  It was as if there was something in my expression that gave away my feelings about the whole thing.  Maybe she thought that I just really didn’t understand what it was that I was witnessing; the true greatness of the man they were so honoring.  So she enlightened me, as she clapped so hard and long her jowls shook right along with her nice reproduction-of-pearl necklace.  “He’s so rich!” she beamed as if that would be enough for me to truly understand and come around to start applauding myself.  When I didn’t, she looked for it in my eyes, the recognition of the light turning on.  Not finding it, as she continued applauding, I could tell the very second she dismissed me as undeserving of her time.

You’re either with us or against us.

That “expert” on CNN has the same eyes she did.  As he reduced concerned discourse about the domestic state of affairs to an insultingly dismissive “class warfare” talking point, he beamed like a sophomore trying to get into a senior class party. 

He went on to explain how the trickle down theory works.  “New York loves it when these guys get these bonus checks because they pay some taxes on them and then they go out to celebrate at the restaurants and the bars.  And the Italians and the black people serving them get the tips!”  He said.  Honestly, that is what he said.

Did the anchor know just how many levels of offensiveness that entire interview spanned?  Because if she did, she didn’t communicate it.  She was obviously pressed for time since his response was longer than the 6 second sound bite that her time-slot allowed for.  So she rushed out her closing platitudes and tossed over to the peeved weatherman seemingly disgruntled about his shortened segment.  In a flash the sickening display was a forgotten moment in time. 

But there I was, back again leaning on the wall in the Richmond conference room, thinking that these people would have to breed themselves out of the gene pool.  Boy was I wrong.  Just one more miscalculation in a long history of them.  It was I who just didn’t get it.  The writing was on the wall.

You are either with us or against us.