Hell in a Chaise

To poor people (I mean actual poor people, not the merely rich folks Americans consider poor), the daily lives of rich people look like this:

"Would you like a blanket?"
"Would you like some food?"
"Are you too warm? Too cold?"
"Would you like a more comfortable chair?"
"Would you like to go on a vacation?"
"Would you like to buy these fine things?"
"Would you like a medical second opinion?"

...and so on, ad infinitum. Even if there's not some person offering these things, the thought process runs eternally: "How is this moment not completely optimal?"

Poor people never experience any of this. They make do without blankets or fine food; they're hardly gauging whether they're warm, cold, or uncomfortable. Vacations don't happen, fine things are for other people, and they do whatever their doctor says, assuming they can afford one. It never occurred to them to chase optimality.

This explains why rich people seem like frightful basket cases of petty complaints. "Why isn't there a blanket? I hate this food! It's too warm/cold! This chair is uncomfortable! I hate this vacation, and I own so many fine things that I lack room to store them. And shlepping around to doctors is a nightmare!"

Put a rich person in a luxurious chaise longue before a million dollar view, wave palm fronds so he's not too warm, adjust his umbrella so it's just sunny enough, swathe him in tanning lotion because his dermatologist says he's extra susceptible, massage his feet, ply him with snacks and cooling drinks, and attend to every last desire, fear, preference, and whimsy—and he'll torture himself over that awful thing his third grade teacher said to him once. He'll dig into his bag of go-to bitter lozenges to find some way to ballast his happiness.

Let his glass remain empty for a minute or two, and he'll much more smoothly reframe himself into Hell. The primitive "fight-or-flight" reflex kicks in, scrambling to restore optimality through requests, demands, and raging tantrums until order is reestablished. Failing that, it's a collapse into depression—falling pallidly into the nearest chaise plied with cooling drinks and fine snacks when not circulating between psychiatrists.

Poor people are not some other species. They're rich people in larval form, with all neuroses latently present. This explains why every one of them yearns and aches to be rich.


For those who didn't click the first link, which means they read the above from within the bizarre class dysmorphia that makes Americans self-frame as non-rich, here's the essay:

Rich, Richer, Richest

Rich - No risk of death from curable disease; hunger rare and minor; lavish portfolio of modern comforts/conveniences/entertainments; days off; personal possessions; car owner (or access to mass transit).

Soccer Mom Rich - Overabundance of possessions and food seems like a negative; vacations; spare time for hobbies; savings.

Dentist Rich - Late model car; investments; parking garages; frequent $20 meals and infrequent $50 meals.

Lawyer Rich - Occasional business class; fancy car; hires people for jobs they could do themselves.

Entrepreneur Rich - Business class; prestige car; default question is "do I really need?" rather than "can I afford?". Children financially assured.


The "Rich" in America (what we here call "the working poor") enjoy a lifestyle of comfort, health, security, and entertainment beyond the imagining of aristocrats of past centuries, and are the envy of most people in the Third World today (though, even there, extreme poverty is down almost 26% over a mere 25 years).