My name is Susan and I’m rich-ist by Susan Grimsdell
I really don’t think I’m racist. As a feminist, I’m definitely not sexist, and I’m not age-ist or ??? (what else is there?). But I have now come to realise that I suffer from a different kind of -ist. The other night just as I was getting ready to go to bed, fireworks started up outside my window, which looks out over Auckland Harbour. It wasn’t New Year’s Eve or Waitangi Day or any other special public day, but it was quite a spectacular display that went on for about ten minutes. I discovered the next morning that the fireworks had been let off by some rich b——d to commemorate his kid’s success at university.
An aversion to wealth
This is when I got hit by that nasty realisation – I’m rich-ist. I get turned right off by people who make it clear to the rest of us that they are “stinking” (what an appropriate adjective – who thought that one up!) rich.
My aversion reaction comes sweeping over me when I see a $200,000 car tooling down the street, or when I trot around certain areas of the city and see houses that could be found in Beverley Hills with four over-the-top flash cars in the driveway, or when I hear about so-and-so (and he usually is a so-and-so), having made yet another billion last week or when I see…..….you get the point.
Now should I try to cure myself of this affliction, so I can have an open mind about these folks? But being rich-ist is who I am! So, apologies to all you RBs, I’m not about to change. Of course, they could be the ones to do the changing – walk away from all that gloss and glitter, share your wealth, and join the rest of us down here in the real world. Then I’m sure I’d get over my aversion reaction and maybe even pick up a bit of respect for you.