The Blog Of No Return
Friday, June 03, 2005
I will simply never understand rich people. I think I could understand them, and I'm willing to try if they would just come down and live on Earth with the rest of us humans. But they insist on staying on some plane of existence where everything serves their needs and actions have no consequences.
Case in point: I went to my physical rehabilitation appointment this morning to work on my pathetic lower back. So far so good, everything went well, and there was a spring in my step as I exited the building. But parked right next to the door was this huge Cadillac SRX minivan monstrosity, its engine running with nobody around. I conferred with another woman in the parking lot and we agreed that some elderly person must have inadvertantly left it running and forgotten it when they went inside for rehab.
Turns out it belonged to a middle-aged woman inside, who calmly continued peddling the exercise bike, jewelry jingling as she informed us that the car was running for her little doggie who was inside. In other words, god forbid her dog should have to come inside the waiting room and breathe the same air as us poor folk. Far better to pump an hours' worth of Cadillac exhaust into the Earth's beleaguered atmosphere, right? Oh, and the kicker: the license plate read "Marathon Yacht Club, Florida Keys".
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, rich lady?!
Case in point: I went to my physical rehabilitation appointment this morning to work on my pathetic lower back. So far so good, everything went well, and there was a spring in my step as I exited the building. But parked right next to the door was this huge Cadillac SRX minivan monstrosity, its engine running with nobody around. I conferred with another woman in the parking lot and we agreed that some elderly person must have inadvertantly left it running and forgotten it when they went inside for rehab.
Turns out it belonged to a middle-aged woman inside, who calmly continued peddling the exercise bike, jewelry jingling as she informed us that the car was running for her little doggie who was inside. In other words, god forbid her dog should have to come inside the waiting room and breathe the same air as us poor folk. Far better to pump an hours' worth of Cadillac exhaust into the Earth's beleaguered atmosphere, right? Oh, and the kicker: the license plate read "Marathon Yacht Club, Florida Keys".
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, rich lady?!
