The Poor Get Poorer
Eight guys. Count em. Eight. Eight men own more wealth on this planet than 3.6 billion of the bottom half of Earth’s population. Think about that for more than a few seconds. I don’t know about you, but I find it sort of staggering. Even though we have Bill Gates in the area. And Paul Allen. And Jeff Bezos. And more than just a few dot.com millionaires dotting the landscape. So it’s not a surprise that we have wealth inequity in this country. We drive by the ragged tents under Seattle’s freeway and see the folks on the other end of the scale. Probably just lazier than those eight Captains of Industry. Or dumber. Or more interested in drugs. Some good reason so no point in trying to figure out a more equitable system.
Down at the Diner the other day, Lotto Larry was telling us what he planned to do with his winnings if he ever won the Big One. Sure wasn’t going to give it to the poor or the hungry, you can bet. No, he plans for a house in Hawaii, swimming pool, housecleaners, BMW sports car, a fully stocked bar in the lanai, hot tubs … hell, he could — and did — go on for half an hour and three refills of coffee from Brenda. “Going to hire a high price accountant to cut down on the upper bracket taxes I’d probably owe. Figure out some shelters.”
“What did Trump say,” Brenda asked, pouring another round in between the cruises to the Bahamas and the condo in San Francisco, “only the stupid pay their taxes?”
Larry couldn’t have agreed more. “That’s why, sweetheart, the rich get richer,” he intoned, slopping cream into his cup and four packs of sugar. Brenda shook her head sadly. “Can’t wait to see what kind of tips you’ll give then,” she muttered, walking off. Larry was the worst tipper among us and that says a lot. Sometimes, if he didn’t have spare change in his pocket, he’d leave the lint.
Bobby across the table pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and shook his head too. Bobby lived in the same neighborhood as Larry, two doors down, 4000 square foot houses, travel trailers in the high garage, vacation lots down in Green Valley, Arizona where they both spent part of the winters. Neither knew where Brenda lived, down in the trailer court past Tyee Store, trying to support two kids after her divorce. “Jeez, Larry,” Bobby said, “you don’t have to rub it in, buddy.”
Larry, ever the charitable one, chuckled and added, “And the poor get poorer.” Bobby groaned and the rest of us 1 %’ers shook our heads. I did notice, though, we all left a little larger tip than usual. Well, except for Larry.
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