Class In Our Time

It often seems to be the case that I am in neighborhoods that may be charitably described as somewhat rough around the edges. I don't want to give the impression that they are bad neighborhoods really, because in comparison with some rather notorious ones that come to mind, these are not all that bad. They are just rundown, and if not unsafe, then not overtly very safe. I tend to have in my head the idea that I've got a bit more going for me than my presence in such districts would suggest. Given my circumstances, that may be entirely unfounded, but there it is anyway. It's a conceit that aids the well-being of my self-esteem at times, not unlike the shield that must be made of one's ego as an up and coming entertainer in order to fend off relentless and often unkind criticism.

On the other end of the spectrum from the grittier areas are the glitzy ones. Where I felt like a big fish in the former, the latter places have me feeling more like a fish out of water than a small fish in a larger pond. I often tell people how, when walking around a very nice residential block, I have a mild fear of being stopped by a concerned citizen, a HOA rent-a-cop or even a real policeman. I feel keenly how out of place I must seem, especially looking as I do. I sometimes carry a backpack and get the idea that I look like Rambo in First Blood. Perhaps that's not the case, but I do look somewhat unkempt and scruffy sometimes if I'm not careful. Unless I'm dressed to clean a pool, I must surely stick out like a sore thumb. Frankly, I wouldn't hire myself to clean a pool. On looks alone, I might be suitable to clean up after pets in people's yards.

It's enough to make me wonder if this insecurity about my class makes me something of a Jay Gatsby, potentially. At this point, my less well-read readers may want to do a little research before continuing on. Now, I'll admit that the comparison is far from perfect. Prohibition is a thing of the distant past, so I'll certainly need a different illicit means of acquiring the wealth with which I hope to woo a woman from my past who I have never gotten over. For that matter, I still lack a woman from my past who I have never gotten over. I'll have to do some thinking, and see if I can't come up with that. Then again, once I have all the key ingredients, the direction things go in from that point isn't really so desirable. Maybe I'd better just find another way of dealing with the matter.

Either I have to shore up my classiness, or learn to accept my lack of classiness. Can I ever hope to do the latter without forsaking my classier friends? Probably I can't. I find that easing my anxiety about something invariably requires putting it out of my mind entirely, and I can hardly do that with people while still being among them. The only remaining option is to become classier. Obviously a shave and a haircut are entirely out of the question. That leaves two possibilities in my mind: One, I can attempt to get there with half-measures such as clothes, other possessions and where I live. Two, I can simply accrue so much wealth that people will gladly lie and claim that I have indeed become very classy. I kind of like that option.