Do You Know Who I Am?
I was guilty of using that line once to a bartender at a music gig after we played. The bands could drink all the free draft beer they could swallow. After a rousing, hot, sweaty performance. In need of something a bit stronger, I ordered a double vodka rocks w/ lime from the barkeep. They politely refused me and said I’d have to pay for it. I wasn’t wearing the right color wristband. I was already drunk. I indignantly replied, do you know who I am
They had no idea who I was, like it mattered. I was bum-rushed out of the venue for creating a drunken brawl. That was my modus operandi for a large chunk of my so-called musical career. Whatever that fiasco was in my mind. I created a ruckus because I thought I should get a free drink. Not happening. I don’t think it was the right decision. I thought I deserved it after a fantastic performance playing my ass off for free. But I was wrong. I was once again guilty of flagrant assholism.
It’s not uncommon for people with privilege like politicians, entertainers, movie stars, rock stars, sports personalities, and other prominent figures mixing their select forte with drinking problems. To assume they have carte blanche to act like buttheads and do whatever they want. A complete disregard for anyone who has the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. It happens all the time. Never more than now. There’s a small group of unfeeling, spiteful, mean-spirited people who happen to be politicians and believe they’re above the law and rules of decorum and common decency.
They’re public servants paid for by taxpayers. I’ve never been a fan of big government or political party games. They’ve crossed the line into uncharted waters, like a deluded castaway on a deserted island believing that they are superior to the creatures that’ve lived there long before they arrived. They don’t need the money. They want more. Always. That’s why greed wants more power to steal from us. They can, they did, and you can bet your boney ass they’ll do it again until there’s nothing left. A total disregard for the people who voted them into office. I like money as much as the rest of us, but I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth. We don’t have an invitation to the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
It’s not unusual to feel left out of the exclusive club of the well-to-do in a society of arrogance. They lack the ability to be honest, compassionate, or respectful to others in their midst. Devoid of empathy towards others except for the followers in the brain-dead cult of their exclusive membership club. Only for the narrow like-minded. Nothing new about it. In the age of oligarchs, we have millionaires who want to be billionaires and billionaires who want to be trillion-dollar kings and queens. It’s a tired old story. A trick on the poor who pay through the nose in a broken system. Cogs in a wobbly gear that turns pain and suffering into profit. Nobody suffers like the poor.
There’s no ethnicity in poverty. Bamboozled in a country that sold out its citizenry long ago. They inherited all the wealth from the bloody sweat and tears of our ancestors. The poor have no safety net, though they bounce around up and down from a paycheck to payments. Barely eking out a living on minimum wages. It is a sad sorry state of woes. It’s also related to what you think and who you are. Do you know who they are? In a culture of fear and hatred there’s no place for love, no reason or love and respect for others. The self-entitled have a death grip on your purse strings.
I know who you are. You know who you are too. We all know who they are because they’re not us. It’s so easy to spot, and you can’t do anything about it. Even if you could flip the script on that bunch, you’ll never receive an invitation to their party. If you by chance are get a RSVP to attend a soirée, ask them if they know who you are. The reason is because you’ll be serving them hors d’oeuvres and champagne while kowtowing to them. They have no use for you, except to extort your money while giving you the scraps and crumbs from their gourmet buffet while taking your hard-earned cash from our pockets. We know who we are. The question stays, who the hell do they think they are?