Porshe Makes A What?
The West Lake Hills Fitness Center proved to be something of a disappointment.
It wasn't just the absence of debutantes in cute little tennis outfits or the complete failure of the staff to point me toward the jacuzzi. Rather, it was the tastelessness of the lobby decor that turned me off. That, and the friendliness of the sweaty moneyed bastards who are so obviously the backbone of the establishment.
I showed up at 5 this morning, lured in by the promise of an internet cafe. I had high expectations, for the lot I run is in West Lake Hills, and West Lake Hills falls somewhere between Palm Beach and the Hamptons on the social strata.
Good place for a Christmas tree lot, however. Good place to sell a $300 tree.
I've had as much as $700,00 worth of automobiles outside my tent at any one moment. $200,000 in Chevy Suburbans alone, at one moment. Plus the Lexuses (Lexi?) and the Land Rovers and, as though this can posssibly make sense, the Porshe SUVs.
It's a good ol' family outing, Christmas tree buying. Sometimes they bring their Mexicans with them, but, more often than not, they come alone and leave the staff at home to unravel the lights.
They're fit, though. I'll give them that. Having the groundskeeper mow the lawn and the maid take out the garbage leaves them plenty of time for exercise, and they take full advantage of the Austin climate. Joggers and cyclists pass my lot all the time. Then there's the Fitness Center.
Big Papa himself finagled a membership - traded a tree or something - and I was elected to deliver the tree. Somewhere in the paperwork shuffle an extra guest pass ended up in my hands and that's how I got to the Center at 5 this morning.
I had it all worked out. I'd sit in the cafe, sip some coffee, and take full advantage of their high speed wireless. I'd lay low, though. Wouldn't draw too much attention to myself. Keep my back turned to the elite and wait for the tap on the shoulder .... Who am I trying to kid? I never thought they'd even let me through the door, guest pass or no.
They not only let me through the door, they greeted me with smiles and open arms and gave me a grand tour of everything but the ladies locker room.
"So you really just camp out with the trees?"
"You came all the way from North Carolina?"
"How many trees will you sell? Will you sell out? What kinds of trees are they?"
In other words, everyone was perfectly normal, and, despite my preconcieved notions, dirty hands and pine pitch all over your clothes doesn't land you on death row around here.
And the place wasn't as swanky as I had imagined. In fact, I've been in multi-plexes with better carpets. And the lobby needed a facelift and paint was peeling off the emergency exit doors. Still, though, a nice place.
I made my way to the cafe, which wasn't open though the brochure promised it would be. The premium coffee I imagined myself sipping came from an aluminum urn and was no better than gas station swill. And I couldn't even get on the internet.
I long ago lost the illusion that justice is blind or that America is the land of opportunity. All my experiences lead me to the inescapable conclusion that the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. All that Horatio Alger stuff is a bunch of baloney. Honest, hard works gets you nothing but blisters. But I learned something important today: your imported sports car and your stock portfolio ain't worth shit when your server is down.
It wasn't just the absence of debutantes in cute little tennis outfits or the complete failure of the staff to point me toward the jacuzzi. Rather, it was the tastelessness of the lobby decor that turned me off. That, and the friendliness of the sweaty moneyed bastards who are so obviously the backbone of the establishment.
I showed up at 5 this morning, lured in by the promise of an internet cafe. I had high expectations, for the lot I run is in West Lake Hills, and West Lake Hills falls somewhere between Palm Beach and the Hamptons on the social strata.
Good place for a Christmas tree lot, however. Good place to sell a $300 tree.
I've had as much as $700,00 worth of automobiles outside my tent at any one moment. $200,000 in Chevy Suburbans alone, at one moment. Plus the Lexuses (Lexi?) and the Land Rovers and, as though this can posssibly make sense, the Porshe SUVs.
It's a good ol' family outing, Christmas tree buying. Sometimes they bring their Mexicans with them, but, more often than not, they come alone and leave the staff at home to unravel the lights.
They're fit, though. I'll give them that. Having the groundskeeper mow the lawn and the maid take out the garbage leaves them plenty of time for exercise, and they take full advantage of the Austin climate. Joggers and cyclists pass my lot all the time. Then there's the Fitness Center.
Big Papa himself finagled a membership - traded a tree or something - and I was elected to deliver the tree. Somewhere in the paperwork shuffle an extra guest pass ended up in my hands and that's how I got to the Center at 5 this morning.
I had it all worked out. I'd sit in the cafe, sip some coffee, and take full advantage of their high speed wireless. I'd lay low, though. Wouldn't draw too much attention to myself. Keep my back turned to the elite and wait for the tap on the shoulder .... Who am I trying to kid? I never thought they'd even let me through the door, guest pass or no.
They not only let me through the door, they greeted me with smiles and open arms and gave me a grand tour of everything but the ladies locker room.
"So you really just camp out with the trees?"
"You came all the way from North Carolina?"
"How many trees will you sell? Will you sell out? What kinds of trees are they?"
In other words, everyone was perfectly normal, and, despite my preconcieved notions, dirty hands and pine pitch all over your clothes doesn't land you on death row around here.
And the place wasn't as swanky as I had imagined. In fact, I've been in multi-plexes with better carpets. And the lobby needed a facelift and paint was peeling off the emergency exit doors. Still, though, a nice place.
I made my way to the cafe, which wasn't open though the brochure promised it would be. The premium coffee I imagined myself sipping came from an aluminum urn and was no better than gas station swill. And I couldn't even get on the internet.
I long ago lost the illusion that justice is blind or that America is the land of opportunity. All my experiences lead me to the inescapable conclusion that the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. All that Horatio Alger stuff is a bunch of baloney. Honest, hard works gets you nothing but blisters. But I learned something important today: your imported sports car and your stock portfolio ain't worth shit when your server is down.
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