On staying classy

I only became aware of different classes in society when I learnt about serfdom at primary school. You see, a Lord would lend a plot of land to a serf, who would culstivate the soil and grow shit, giving most of it back to the Lord while chomping down on the leftovers.

Look, I am sure that it is far more intricate than that, but I can hardly recall what I had for dinner last night, so cut me some slack.

And while you have your traditional upper, middle, working etc classes, at the time of my primary schooling, I identified as a westie. I lived in the western suburbs of Sydney, where shagging – wagons proudly bore signs on the back of them saying something about not knocking on the door if the vehicle was rocking.

I was a dead set Western Sydney Magpies tragic and wanted to be Tommy Redonikis when I grew up.

Later I would be whisked away and plonked down in the leafy suburb of Wahroonga on Sydney’s posh North Shore, where the emergence of different classes became apparent.

If I got caught outside of my boarding school without my blazer, I would get a detention. If I got caught eating in the street in my school uniform, I would get a detention. If during a routine underpant inspection which I am sure would be illegal these days, and I wasn’t wearing bottle green, super strength granny pants, that is right! Off to detention.

And why was this? The school wanted their students to be CLASSY.

It went against every fibre of my very being. I have always been a rule-breaker and saw no fucking sense in most of the school rules. Which is why I spent most Wednesday afternoons in detention.

So there is class, and there is classes and they change as you get older. You don’t go to class, you apparently join one. And the one you join is dependant on how rich your oldies are, what you do for a job, where you live, what school your kids go to, and what car you drive.

Basically, it is an antiquated system that I believe has no place in modern society. Although my whimsical ideation continuously is proven wrong. Fuck it.

Nowadays the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer and the class divide is never more evident. In Australia, we actually now have six classes to slide around in.

  • Precariat – Hanging on until pension day. 12%
  • Ageing Workers – Cannot afford to retire. 14%
  • New Workers – Tradies. 24%
  • Established Middle – Self-funded retirees and more people working in the community and personal services sector. 24%
  • Emerging Affluent – Roxy Jacenko. 15%
  • Established Affluent – Must live in the postcode 2027 and have a super-yacht. 11%

Which brings me to something that happened just a few weeks ago. It was the NSW State Election. I live in a solid Liberal Seat, (tips hat to Jonathon O’Dea) in an area known for God, Gardens and Golf. I lined up to vote, ate a sausage sandwich and was pursuing the cake stand when I noticed that a lady was on the receiving end on some angry words and stabby finger motions of an elderly man.

He stormed off.

Now, this lady would have been in her early seventies and was attractive in all physical ways. Slim, dressed in white jeans and a red t-shirt, with large pearl accoutrements. She was handing out for the Labor party. I asked her is she was ok.

“Not really,” She explained that that was Roger from the golf club who attacker her verbally for, and I quote this verbatim “Being a traitor to my class!”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Eventually I told her that Roger didn’t look like he had many elections left in his lifetime, and to trip him over if she passes him on the fairways.

Can you believe that?

When it comes to class, how do you describe yourself?