“I have lots of jokes about entitled unemployed people, but they don’t work” – Ron White

I overheard a friend of mine not long ago complaining about the sorry state of his finances. A big part of what triggered him concerned his outrage that his family would only be able to take one week’s vacation instead of the usual two.

That and they would have to put off getting that new and bigger car ‘til next year.

And to rub salt in his wound, the county building department denied approving the larger sized pool he and his wife wanted.

Oh…the humanity! To live is to suffer!

As some of you well know, I will complain about anything. Even people who complain. Why? Because it’s my right to complain. And sort of a hobby. But I try to keep it somewhat in perspective.

We are the most spoiled group of people in all of known human history. Two thirds of the rest of the world would give up their life if you would allow their family to eat from your garbage can or dumpster.

I’m no lifetime world traveler, but as a kid I lived in England, a so-called “First World” country. And as an adult I’ve been to a few at the bottom of the barrel.

England is broke. Has been since World War II. It was a bit bleak then, but I keep up on what’s going on there out of nostalgia. It’s still bleak by our standards.

The average Brit lives in a house or apartment about the size of many of you folks’ garages and U-G-L-Y on the outside, kinda prison-styled architecture.

The cars you see on the streets are teeny tiny little boxes on wheels, and even those are out of the price range of most urban middle class English people.

Now…this’ll bring out the American in you. To own and operate a television set in His Majesty’s stomping grounds, you have to pay a $174.50 yearly fee. It was per TV when I was there, and things do not usually change for the better there over time.

On top of it all, England is the place that sends the police to arrest you if you post a Facebook meme they don’t like. There are a number of Brits serving prison time for that. They would just go ahead and give me the electric chair. If they had one.

Ready to toss some tea boxes? There’s lots more rant where that came from.

When it comes to the Third World countries, you have to see to believe.

On one trip to Mexico, we rented a Jeep and left the safe, warm bosom of Cancun, Mexico’s version of Disney World South. Might as well be Epcot.

About 60 miles down the coastal jungle road – how young and stupid we were – there was some minor Mayan temple right on the ocean we wanted to see. Plus, there was a chance to see the “real Mexico.”

We passed many privately-owned farms on the way. The “house” usually meant four walls of rough coquina rock (seashells stuck to themselves) laid out in about a 20’x20’ square shape, covered with some vegetation for a roof. No windows, just a door with a bare dirt floor. Don’t bother asking about a bathroom.

On the way there we stopped for fuel at what passed for a gas station, a tiny grimy shack with one rusty pump circa 1949. We were swarmed by a dozen kids about elementary age. My gas cap disappeared. Where did they sell it?

We got to the Aztec site. Some fledgling entrepreneur had gathered some sheets of plywood, assorted trash and some old mismatched metal chairs and opened a bar/restaurant. Seating was outside under a plywood “roof.” There was a menu but no prices.

This is the mid-80’s, and the big ultra status beer is Mexican Corona, with a slice of lime. You paid considerably more for it. It’s the only brew a yuppie would drink.

As we started drinking our $3 Coronas, I noticed three young Mexican guys sitting at a nearby table… drinking their Coronas. Looking toward us they seemed to be amused and smirking. One said something in Spanish and they all laughed.

It wasn’t until I got home and did some checking that I found out why.

The three bucks they saw us pay was roughly about 6000 pesos. At a 1650 pesos per day, the minimum pay scale, they had watched the insane Americans fork over about three days’ salary (in their world) for a bottle of beer.

Best guess: They paid about 15 cents for theirs.

The large majority of the Earth’s population lives even worse than these two examples. Way worse. Getting into that would require an overload of gross.

As much as I enjoy grumbling and complaining, I do realize that I and the rest of you are indeed… full of it.

Thom Caraccio ([email protected]) is a retired musician and retired motion picture scenic artist living in West Palm Beach, Florida who hails from Columbus. He graduated from S.D. Lee High in 1968 and still considers Columbus his real hometown.