What the super elite are doing during the Corona crisis. I hang out with rich people volume 69, by Darryl Smurten.
If you don’t already know me then it’s for one of two reasons. Number one: you haven’t read my awesome column about how I spend my life around the richest and most superior people on the planet. Or number two: you aren’t good enough to know me, mostly because you hang out at places where everybody has facial hair and sprays themselves with something called “body wash.”
Anyway. The Intergalactic Business Report asked me to write about what the super wealthy are doing during the Corona Virus pandemic, and I said O.K. It also happened to be a perfect assignment for me because for the last month I’ve been isolated with my very rich friend Ruben at his unbelievable estate by the ocean (not saying which one out of respect for anonymity).
Ruben’s also not his actual name, but he asked me to make up an alias for him, because, I guess, Mark is too easy to guess for people who want to know who he really is. So, when the quarantines started and everyone starting holing up in their hovels around the world, I got a call from Ruben, who said, “Hey, why don’t you wait this out at my home on the ocean?”
I’m not going to lie. I had a lot of offers for where to spend this time, so I asked Ruben if there would be servants there as well. He said yes, and he was forcing them to stay in the house with us and not leave. I said that was even better and headed out there immediately.
If you’ve read my column you know I have extremely high standards for servants and staff. I can’t help it. I guess I’m just a perfectionist. I believe that if you’re in a job where rich people tell you what to do then you need to be almost flawless, like a diamond, except worth almost nothing.
So I arrived at Ruben’s house just before all the shit started really happening and he greeted me at the gate. He said that just in case I had the virus I should stay in the North wing of his mansion for two weeks. I grudgingly agreed because I don’t like to be confined to less than twenty-three thousand square feet. The North wing is a mere nineteen thousand. But I was a guest, and I had to suck it up a little and show my decency and respect, which I’m well-known for.
The following is basically how I spent those first two weeks:
7:00 a.m. Wake up and ask where the servants are. Call the kitchen. Call the butler’s alcove. Call Ruben. Where the fuck are they?
7:17 a.m. Ruben tells me (again) that the servants don’t begin work till 8:00 a.m.
7:59 a.m. Call the kitchen. Call the butler’s alcove. Finally someone fucking answers.
8:00-8:19 a.m. Bitch out the butler and any other staff. I ask him to put himself on “speaker” so everyone can hear. I tell them all to disobey their boss’s orders, because he’s just being nice, and start working at 7:00 a.m.
8:34 a.m. I’m served breakfast. Finally. The staff won’t go near me for fear of being touched or something even though I promised I wouldn’t try to have sex with them or anything. They leave a tray outside the door.
8:50 a.m. I wonder how the fuck the servants are going to clean my room.
8:51 -10:41 a.m. I write this column. You’re welcome.
10:42-4:30 p.m. I spend time with my zoom circle jerk group online.
4:31 p.m. I call Ruben and ask for drugs, which he says he doesn’t have. Fucking liar.
4:32 p.m. I call the servants and tell them to bring me drugs. They only have alcohol, they say. Whatever, I tell them. Just bring me a shit load of it.
4:39 p.m. I finally get my alcohol.
4:40-11:55 p.m. I drink, call some of the guys from my masturbation group, work on my dances, perfect at least one of my dances, and read one of my spontaneous plays to the servants over the speaker phone.
11:56 p.m. I realize those fuckers haven’t brought me dinner. I open the door to the North wing and scream down to them. I want fucking Beef Wellington! I’m always in the mood for that late night.
11:58 p.m. I pass out for a while.
Sometime after that the beef wellington arrives.
Anyway, those were my days living in isolation. It sucked for me, but I think it also must have been hard on the servants, who were kind of like my first responders. In a way, they’re heroes. Very ungrateful, disorganized heroes. Who should work on anticipating my needs instead of just reacting to everything.
Once I did my two weeks, I could tell Ruben was in a much better mood than whatever he was in before I guess, because I didn’t actually talk to him a lot other than about the fucking servants and their inability to do what I needed when I needed. When I surfaced from the North wing, he was gone. So were the servants.
Apparently, he left in a helicopter for another one of his homes and left me in charge of his entire estate. I guess that shows the bond we have and the trust he puts in me.
So, as always, I will summarize what I learned about the ultra-wealthy. Here it goes:
1. They are terrible at hiring people. I think I’ve said enough on this.
2. Kind of related to number one, above, but I also think they need to get servants who know how to fucking make beef wellington. It isn’t that hard, I’m imagining.
3. Also, kind of related to numbers one and two, I think they should get some back up servants so that there’s more of a “24-7” presence of people who can do shit for you. You’d think they would have come up with this already, but apparently not.
4. Like vampires or something, there are whole periods of the 24-hour cycle where you can’t find them because they’re “asleep.”
5. If they invite you over to their mansion and say you can have the whole North wing, just remember that the North wing is probably the shittiest wing. I’m staying in the South wing now and sleeping in Ruben’s bed. Everybody in my online circle jerk group agrees it’s way better than the crappy room I had before.
So, I guess thanks for reading this? I’ve done what I was asked and I’ll give you more when I both feel like it and am paid. Till then. Darryl.
Darryl Smurten reports on the mega- and ultra-rich. His up-close insights about how they live provide even common peasants the ability to glimpse, if for a moment, the light of the good life. If you are ultra-rich and don’t know Darryl yet, and would like to invite him to hang out with you, please contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org. Don’t expect him to get back to you right away.
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