Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash
A few years ago, journalist Evan Osnos wrote an essay for The New Yorker, titled, “Doomsday Prep for the Super-Rich.” Super-rich people, building bunkers and bomb shelters.
The lede:
Some of the wealthiest people in America — in Silicon Valley, New York, and beyond — are getting ready for the crackup of civilization.
I’ve been ready for a while now. I have two big plastic tubs full of canned cat food. I figure, if civilization comes to an end — which actually wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen — and roving bands of criminals are stealing food from those of us who had the foresight to prepare, they will probably look at those can of cat food and think, “Well, I may be starving, but I’m not going to eat cat food.”
The super-rich from New York and Los Angeles and Austin and Silicon Valley are probably stockpiling caviar and foie gras and Iberico ham. Exactly the kind of food that roving bands of criminals will be looking for.
Just because you’re super-rich, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re smart.
But the thing that struck me most about Mr. Osnos’ article was that phrase in the title. “Super-Rich.”
When I was growing up, there were rich people, and there were poor people, and then there were “middle-class” people. My parents like to think of themselves as “middle class” because the other two categories were slightly embarrassing, for different reasons.
Nowadays, however, we have a new category to worry about.
We still have the poor — who will always be with us, according to Jesus — and the middle-class, and the rich. But now we also have super-rich people, who are richer than rich people. Some of these super-rich people have more money than all of the poor people put together. In fact, all the poor people, and all the middle-class people, put together.
And what are these super-rich people doing with their money? Buying private islands, and building bunkers and bomb shelters stocked with caviar.
Not that the super-rich people are actually building the bunkers, themselves. They are hiring poor and middle-class people to do the actual building. And then, when the bunker is finished, the super-rich are closing the doors to keep out the people who built the bunker for them.
Most super-rich people wouldn’t have a clue how to build a bunker. They only know how to make money.
Then they are hiring retired Navy Seals, with automatic weapons, to guard their compounds.
Whole teams of Navy Seals. With big guns.
Like, who would want to be surrounded by a bunch of hungry men (and women?) with automatic weapons, when civilization comes to an end? Not me.
Just because you’re super-rich, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re smart. As I said before.
I try to imagine myself locked inside a bunker, unable to go outside (mainly because of the hungry men (and women?) with automatic weapons I foolishly hired to protect me) and nothing to eat but caviar and foie gras. The worst thing being, I’d be unable to make money, which was the only thing I knew how to do.
Speaking for myself, I’d rather be sitting in the sunshine, watching the clouds roll by, and eating cat food. I never knew how to make money, so really, what’s the difference?
By the way, I also have a Rubik’s Cube stashed in a safe place, to keep myself entertained. Since the internet probably won’t be working.
And I have a flashlight, with extra batteries.
And my ukulele.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.