Something About Opulence

I was amazed some people could live in such

an opulent way. I was invited to the party only

because I worked for the man who owned the

company, not directly, mind you, for there were

a dozen or so supervisors and managers in be-

tween him and me. All were in attendance at

the holiday party that evening. Oh the opulence

I tell you, from the great room with the polished

Chippendale antiques, from the Waterford crystal

to the uniformed butlers and maids serving cock-

tails and hors d’oeuvres. A canapé? Yes please, I’ll

have one of those. Everyone in attendance was

dressed to the nines, and I was humbly attired in

my thrift store jacket and Walmart shirt and tie.

One day, should I excel in my line of work, climbing

the corporate ladder financially, perhaps having

introduced an innovative product or design which

sets the world on fire, I may be hosting a soiree in

a grand and ostentatious manner with esteemed

elegance such as this. Ah, but for now, one more

cocktail for the road, then I must go, smugly smiling,

though, carrying my pipe dreams of fantasy with me.

And while backing my old Nova out of the semicircu-

lar drive, I accidemtally hit a fire hydrant on the street,

putting quite a noticeable dent in the rear bumper

which until this day I never managed to replace. Had

I been more affluent at the time, I may have been

chauffeur-driven in a Lincoln Continental limousine.

Jeeves, my good man, take the car to the shop in the

morning and have them put the repairs on my account.

Folks who know me to this day would say, Chris, that

life style doesn't sound like the you we have come to

know. You’re more the type who would wear a grease

stained apron, who serves hot dogs, hamburgers and

beer in the backyard. By the way, how many years have

you had that Nova with the bashed-in bumper, anyway?

Chris Hanch 6-16-19