Bad Move...

My boss left the keys to his Aston Martin here at my desk for the weekend. What was he thinking?!? Of course, I'd never actually do anything immoral/illegal with these keys, even though we all know that this is definitely the only opportunity I'll have in my middle class life to drive one of these. But I wouldn't, because I'm just that trustworthy. And because I fear the cold embrace of a jail cell. But mostly, it's my refreshing honesty and high moral standards that prevent me from doing anything exciting.

Still, I keep staring at them obsessively as if they're going to walk out of the office if I don't stare hard enough. It could happen. I open the drawer every five minutes to grope around for them, lest they skip town on my watch. Perhaps it's a good thing that I'm destined to have a moderate income for the rest of my life. If I'm this stressed over holding the keys to a nice car for a few days, I'd probably die a painfully premature death if I did it everyday.

Speaking of nice things, and why I'm not allowed to have any:

We just moved into a new apartment. It's bigger! It's better! It's in the "nice" section of town. As far as I can tell, the "nice" section of town is official douchebag central. We spent two years putting in our time at the crappy apartments in the high crime area with the loud parties and the drunken college dropouts. It was an okay place. The toilet didn't always flush properly and the ceiling leaked once or twice. But the neighbors was good people. The woman next door would offer me a cigarette and tell me about her child support troubles with her ex. The guy upstairs would tell us about his difficulties finding work as a pakistani-american. Joe from downstairs would always smile and wave as he rode his bike to work. And the guy to the right of us, well, he usually littered the porch with beer bongs and played music loud enough to vibrate our kitchen appliances, but he could chug a guiness faster than I could say "go."

But we're in the "nice" place now. It's gated. It's got alarm systems in every apartment and cameras in the parking lot. And what happens the first night there? Someone hits my parked car and leaves no note. I'd like to know how they rationalized that. I keep imagining some monacle-wearing, lexus-driving jackass swerving into my econobox after a night of overpriced mint juleps... probably thinking to himself that a mere thousand dollars worth of damage was hardly worth stopping for.

I did meet one woman who was nice... in a cluelessly priviledged kinda way atleast. As we were looking for a place to park the U-haul, she informed me that it was okay to park it in the handicapped spot directly in front of the door. 'Everyone does it and it's not like there's any handicapped people here anyway.' huh. Is this how the upper middle class makes small talk?

So, with that in mind, the Aston Martin keys stay firmly in the drawer. Maybe rich douchebaggery isn't contagious, but I don't want to take any chances.