Who Needs the 1%? I've Got a Club of My Own

A lot of people are scrambling to get into the 1% Club, this being the wealthiest and top of the heap Americans as measured by income, assets, and the accumulation of moolah extremus, but I think this is typical American overreach.

This attitude is grasping, even greedy. How much more becoming it is to seek, as I do, only to make the top 1.00001%.

Let these others lose their dignity to their covetousness. Contentment with the simple things of life is a virtue, and a humble satisfaction within modest means is attractive to all.

I picture the people in this category as the little brothers to the super-rich, with only a handful of mansions to their name, and barely a small fleet of private jets to call their own.

Our private islands are space-constrained and are hard put to accommodate the landing strips for those jets, and our swimming pools lack underwater bar service staffed by mermaids and the other ordinary amenities that are taken for granted by the more fortunate.

It’s not like us to complain, but we suffer by comparison here in the 1.00001%.

I’ll put it to you this way. If the two of us are out for dinner, a 1 Percenter and a 1.00001 Percenter, when the check comes you can be sure that I move pretty reluctantly for my wallet, even if it was me who ordered the cheese tray at the front end and the tiramisu at the back end.

You’d think that check was somehow invisible the way I just don’t seem to notice it. After a long pause, the 1 Percent Guy across the table sighs audibly and rolls his eyes as he reaches for his credit card.

Does he grumble a smidge as he does so? Maybe.

But come on. He’s got the money. He’s a 1 Percenter!

I suppose I should define my terms. I’m not sure how these things are figured, but let us say that your presence in the 1 Per Cent Club requires a total wealth accumulation of $300 million dollars.

Above that, you’re in. The door opens, you are slapped on the back and greeted heartily, and your cigar is lit with a rolled thousand dollar bill specially set on fire for the occasion.

Below that, and it's sorry, Charlie, better luck with your investments next year, and the door closes in your face.

See, that wouldn’t bother me, the whole closing door thing. That’s how I’m different. A lot of people would turn away with their tails drooping, the wind out of their sails. I picture them standing on the sidewalk scuffing their toes into the ground, discouraged, uncertain what to do next. “But, but….” they stutter. They are like gatecrashers who have tried to worm their way in past the velvet ropes of the hottest new club in town and been turned aside by the bouncer at the door. “You’re under $300 million? Don’t waste my time.”

People have been known to lose their sense of drive in these circumstances, even their self worth. “I’m not in the 1%?” they ask themselves and look around. “Then what exactly am I good for?”

It’s important at such times to have a firm grip on your inner sense of self, the values that make you you.

Me, I’d be fine seeing my investments drop to $299 million, even $295 million, I wouldn’t count it a personal failure to fall out of the 1% and all the way down, like I say, to the top 1.00001%.

I take a large and generous view on these things, and I don’t much care for the way we label people these days. “1% or 1.00001%, it’s all the same to me,” I’ve been known to say. People are people, whatever their circumstances.

And you know, there’s disadvantages to being in that One Per Cent Club. People have their opinions these days, and a lot of them take issue with so much of the world’s wealth being tied up in such a relatively small number of individuals. The One Percenters come in for a lot of very direct personal comment.

On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve even seen a picket sign that reads “Down with the 1.00001%!”

When you see the fellow across the street with the bullhorn and the bucket of pig’s blood and the stack of rotten eggs getting ready to make a political statement upon your house, it’s a simple matter to walk across the street and strike up a conversation.

“My good fellow, can I help you?”

“You are the new bloodsucking ruling class, bleeding the common man dry,” he might reply conversationally, “prepare to suffer the righteous wrath of the people.”

“Oh, my goodness, you don’t for an instant take me for one of the 1% do you? Surely not. Have you had a chance to take a look at the paperwork?”

This throws him for a loop. “Well,” I didn’t exactly know that there was paperwork,” he would admit grudgingly. He shuffles his feet a bit.

“Oh, yes, my yes, we have to carry it around like we carry our title and insurance in the glove compartments of our cars. Here, I have mine with me. See that line right there, line 17a?”

He peers at it suspiciously, “Yes, yes, what about it?”

“Tell me what it says.”

Running a finger along the figures he replies, “Why this says you’re worth only $299 million. Not the $300 million I thought.”

“And where would that put me?”

“Well, er, let’s see,” he says, as he pulls out a sharp pencil and a pad of paper. After a series of fancy figurings he looks up with wonder and says, “You’re not in the 1% at all. You’re in the top 1.00001%.”

“I commend you on your mathematical skills. 1.00001% is exactly correct.”

My gosh, I feel like such an idiot.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, could happen to anyone.”

“Still, a little homework on my part and I could have saved you all the trouble of coming over here.”

“And miss the chance of meeting you? It would have been my loss! Don’t mention it.”

“You’ve been awfully good about this.”

“Oh, these things happen.”

“Say, do you know anyone else on the block in the bloodsucking line of business that I might go after with this pig’s blood and this pile of rotten eggs? I hate to let the morning go to waste.”

“Well, let me think about that.” And depending on how well I am getting along with my neighbors on either side, I either steer my new friend to the next block over, or I point out some choice alternate locations for his protest.

It would be handy too to be a 1.00001 Percenter at fundraising time for your Alumni Association.

It’s a simple matter to cut them off kindly but firmly at the front end, “miss, I believe you have me confused with the One Percenters. I think if you check your records you’ll see that that I’m only in the 1.00001% club.”

“I am so sorry,” the girl says after a moment, and she sounds like a darling person, “you are exactly right. I don’t know how we could have made such an error back here. Let me just correct it on the records while I’ve got it up on the screen. There,” she says after a moment, “all done. We are so sorry to have taken your time.”

“Oh, no problem, a common mistake,” I sympathize, and then she is off the phone. After all, she needs to be making calls to the real money.

So, like I say, I would be perfectly fine being out of the top 1% but well within the top 1.00001%. You don’t get a reputation for hoighty-toightiness, but you still don’t have to agonize down at the grocery store whether to buy the generic dog food or the good stuff .

Leave that for those cheapskates in the 2% club. Me, I could never live like that.