Rich people and free booze
Last night I went to the annual address hosted by the company that “manages” my “portfolio”. Pause for laughter here. I was taken in under the “family umbrella” which means that, because certain relatives are wealthy, my advisor has to be pleasant to me and return my phone calls. I like watching them seethe as I take up their time with idiotic questions about RRSP repayments and the First Time Homeowner’s Plan. I like to wear my running shoes and jeans when I show up and sit across from my guy whose monogrammed shirt is probably worth more than my entire outfit. Good times.
At any rate, I go to this annual address because it actually is pretty informative, and one of the speakers knows what he is talking about. I take Michael because he seems to appreciate going and investing is a part time hobby with him. We grabbed sushi before heading over there and we were early. I’m always early. The address was held at the Fairmont Hotel, which was stellar. We both really enjoyed walking in with our backpacks and catching the attention of the security detail there. I didn’t have my glasses on so I kept asking Michael where we were supposed to go. He said, “Can’t you hear it?” and I was like “What, the sound of money rustling?” and he was like, “No, listen”. And then I heard the sound of a live orchestra emanating from the third floor (the notes gently wafting down the marble staircase). I’m like, right, a live orchestra. So we galumph up the stairs to see a bevy of children resplendent in their finery, artfully arranged at the final ascent, playing their instruments beautifically. They were really good, and they were there for our viewing pleasure. I threw peanuts at them. We waited for them to stop and then proceeded up to the area where they were serving free coffee and tea. I tried (and failed) to make myself look presentable and important while in the lavatory. The women were covered in Coach and Dooney and Burke. My handbag is from Danier Leather, and my earrings are real garnet I felt like saying. Do you like my boots? I just had them re-soled because I can’t bear the cost of another pair. Do you have a square to spare?
Michael was agitated and wanted to get into the conference room to get primo seating. There was like six hundred people there. We then went through an hour and a half of power point slides and my ass went numb. A life insurance guy was talking about the three life segments of investing (or some other equally banal cliché-speak) and one of them was the “under fifty” set. I elbowed Michael and held my fingers scant millimeters apart, indicating how close he was to facing fifty. The next segment was “fifty to early retirement/retirement” or something. Michael elbowed me back and said “like the age segment that is targeting you on Lavalife?” in reference to the 58 year old that wants to rock my world. So funny.
Then we were all invited for appies and wine in the ballroom, and you’ve never seen six hundred, rich, connected, well-heeled people make such a bee-line for free booze and finger food. I almost got trampled. I was like in a mosh pit of the august and moneyed. Don’t get between these folks and their Sauvignon Blanc.
Michael grabbed a brochure and we absconded to 900 West, the lounge at the Fairmont. I pretty much make him take me there as pay back for the loss of feeling in my buttocks which occurs once a year. Except a couple of years ago when I lost the feeling after that curious incident involving too much Percacet, the heated leather seat of an Audi and ass-less chaps. But that’s a story for another day. We each had a couple of drinks and the bill came to $38. Sweet. I checked out men. Halfway through his second beer Michael started singing a song about Wonderbread while the pianist played some jazz standard. It wasn’t the actual Wonderbread song, but one that he was just making up as he went along. Then he told me that the guy that I found attractive was reading a Star Trek book, and I was crushed until I realized that he was joking. Fun-ny.
Then we walked out to the valet and asked them to bring our car around, to which they asked us for the valet ticket and so I gave them my bus ticket. And then security came. I like cosmopolitans.
At any rate, I go to this annual address because it actually is pretty informative, and one of the speakers knows what he is talking about. I take Michael because he seems to appreciate going and investing is a part time hobby with him. We grabbed sushi before heading over there and we were early. I’m always early. The address was held at the Fairmont Hotel, which was stellar. We both really enjoyed walking in with our backpacks and catching the attention of the security detail there. I didn’t have my glasses on so I kept asking Michael where we were supposed to go. He said, “Can’t you hear it?” and I was like “What, the sound of money rustling?” and he was like, “No, listen”. And then I heard the sound of a live orchestra emanating from the third floor (the notes gently wafting down the marble staircase). I’m like, right, a live orchestra. So we galumph up the stairs to see a bevy of children resplendent in their finery, artfully arranged at the final ascent, playing their instruments beautifically. They were really good, and they were there for our viewing pleasure. I threw peanuts at them. We waited for them to stop and then proceeded up to the area where they were serving free coffee and tea. I tried (and failed) to make myself look presentable and important while in the lavatory. The women were covered in Coach and Dooney and Burke. My handbag is from Danier Leather, and my earrings are real garnet I felt like saying. Do you like my boots? I just had them re-soled because I can’t bear the cost of another pair. Do you have a square to spare?
Michael was agitated and wanted to get into the conference room to get primo seating. There was like six hundred people there. We then went through an hour and a half of power point slides and my ass went numb. A life insurance guy was talking about the three life segments of investing (or some other equally banal cliché-speak) and one of them was the “under fifty” set. I elbowed Michael and held my fingers scant millimeters apart, indicating how close he was to facing fifty. The next segment was “fifty to early retirement/retirement” or something. Michael elbowed me back and said “like the age segment that is targeting you on Lavalife?” in reference to the 58 year old that wants to rock my world. So funny.
Then we were all invited for appies and wine in the ballroom, and you’ve never seen six hundred, rich, connected, well-heeled people make such a bee-line for free booze and finger food. I almost got trampled. I was like in a mosh pit of the august and moneyed. Don’t get between these folks and their Sauvignon Blanc.
Michael grabbed a brochure and we absconded to 900 West, the lounge at the Fairmont. I pretty much make him take me there as pay back for the loss of feeling in my buttocks which occurs once a year. Except a couple of years ago when I lost the feeling after that curious incident involving too much Percacet, the heated leather seat of an Audi and ass-less chaps. But that’s a story for another day. We each had a couple of drinks and the bill came to $38. Sweet. I checked out men. Halfway through his second beer Michael started singing a song about Wonderbread while the pianist played some jazz standard. It wasn’t the actual Wonderbread song, but one that he was just making up as he went along. Then he told me that the guy that I found attractive was reading a Star Trek book, and I was crushed until I realized that he was joking. Fun-ny.
Then we walked out to the valet and asked them to bring our car around, to which they asked us for the valet ticket and so I gave them my bus ticket. And then security came. I like cosmopolitans.
posted by Duder at 12:11 PM
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