Mommy, When I Grow Up I Want to be a Gigolo in Monaco!

Your friendly blogger is in Monaco and blogging less than fifty yards from where this photo was taken. Yes, indeed, it is time to break into song:

Well we’re Movin’ on Up!
Movin’ on Up!
To Monaco!
Movin’ on Up!
To a dee-luxe apartment in the sky, We’re movin’ on up!
Movin’ on Up!
To Monaco!
Movin’ on Up!
We’ve finally got a piece of the pie!

Fish don’t fry in the kitchen,
Beans don’t burn on the grill.
Took a whole lotta tryin’
Just to get up that hill.
Now we’re up in the big leagues,
Gettin’ our turn at bat!

I wish. By all outward appearances, I am attending an insurance conference (to provide gory analysis of war and pestilence) but in reality it is a masochistic exercise. There is nothing worse on earth than to be a broke doctoral student attending an insurance gig in Monaco. The water costs about $10 a bottle, the typical meal is expensive enough to feed a small village for a week and you just do not fit in without a Ferrari and a yacht. So here I am, in a tie, in 75 degree weather, being treated like a nuisance by waiters who sniff my income from a mile off and from the intensely close reading of the menu that I have been engaging in. My eyes in Monaco are ever on red, smooth cars and orange tans on Botox-smooth skin. There are old people everywhere, and they look angry: perhaps because they can buy everything except the one thing they really want, which is their youth. My Monaco trip has led me to a highly scientific theory: there are more ugly rich people than ugly poor people. Yes, I know, you might think that a superior diet would make for better looks but this is not the case. What has happened over millenia is that the uncool kids who no-one really wanted to hang out with have spent their time reading and working hard while all you cool cats sit around and admire yourselves. Then BLAM, they have a yacht in Monaco, enough money to afford Botox in chemical warfare amounts and no end of beautiful women and men catering to their every whim. And this last point, the beauty of the prostitutes and the gigolos – a career that every PhD student has considered at some point I wage – actually redoubles the rage I was talking about earlier. Here they are having ‘made it’ and what happens? They are now old and still need to pay to hang out with the kind of cool cats who first spurned them onto the road leading to Monaco. OK, whatever, I am not even sure I believe all that. Back to sado-masochism. Yesterday, I ordered a cup of coffee for about 10 euros and it arrived cold. In a fury, which I carefully disguised as a reaction to the coffee’s temperature, not its cost, I took this poor waiter to task. After a brief but intense rant, I was gripped with guilt at messing the guy’s workday until I saw him and a fellow waiter looking at me and sniggering away. I could just imagine one whispering to the other, “zat a—hole zere is poor, zis poor ones are ze worst and I will wash his cup with zat orange woman’s…”


About bulletsandhoney
I read my first book when I was three, then my second one a few weeks later. It has carried on this way for decades with only temporary distractions of eating, fighting, loving, heartbreak and other such irrelevant biographical details.

6 Responses to Mommy, When I Grow Up I Want to be a Gigolo in Monaco!

  1. Acolyte says:

    hmmmmm yenyewe brokeness is not a nice thing but on the other hand to be low or middle class in monaco is to be a baller elsewhere.Hope your coffee did not have a strange after taste though.

  2. stonelifter says:

    intresting theory about ugly rich.i have noticed this also,maybe in the quest to be beautiful their self image is skewed and they realise not that they are ugly.

  3. Hoots says:

    Great story. Thanks. I needed that. Makes me want to be thirty years younger.

  4. Ms K says:

    LMAO MMK!! Brilliant post! Ati angry old people?? LOL

    Zat axzent jazz killed me!

  5. Prousette says:

    Interesting I think from today I will be thinking along the lines poor: beautiful: ugly rich just to exercise your theory.
    Why is a cup of coffee EUR 100?? WIll it cure your craving for the fix for life?

  6. Anonymous says:

    How about the 27 Euros it cost per drink… mixed or just a beer, at Jimmy’z nightclub. What a load of crap… found a few cheaper places that were more reasonable, like Cafe Sass. Only 12-14 Euros a drink. We got back at the system however when I broke out my nice big leather flask full of Vodka the 2nd night. After 5 nights in Monaco, I figure I saved $500 American dollars by filling up our drink glasses and just adding more ice all night. Moral: if your there to party late night… bring a flask.

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