These boring rich people proudly surround themselves in the trappings of the bored rich, and they are all white, usually old, unless they're part of the geeky techie invasion in San Luis Obispo, (the same ones who siphoned all the personality and eccentric characters out of San Francisco) and believe me, this breed is about as vapid as it gets. Maybe they became as unbearably boring as they are because they have devoted their lives to the desires and schemes of getting rich and accumulating items of great value and have little time to be fun and funny and stupid and tantalizingly shiftless like all the colorful no-accounts who've dwelt in Cayucos over the years and mostly disappeared by attrition and been replaced by boring rich people.
Old white boring rich people love to talk with casual authority and smugness to fellow old white boring rich people about their stock and real estate holdings (unless it's grandchildren, God help us), and how to invest their largess and how they became rich; especially when they go on cruises where they don't have to do much but eat and drink and be entertained and waited upon by peons while their wives drag them to tourist spots in ports and shop and snap pictures to show their fellow boring rich friends when they return home.
Boring rich people, while together, also like to castigate politicians who create ecological restrictions to their access to new riches and go overboard in enacting safeguards to protect the peons from their unchecked greed to never stop getting richer and richer, and many of them still have the sour taste of Franklin Roosevelt, the SEC, and now Obama stuck I their craws.
The boring rich people in Cayucos seldom if ever leave their dogs off the leash because they fear their dogs might offend other dog owners, (lawsuits are always a great fear) and their dogs usually are tiny pampered pedigrees who yip and yap and either quail or feign attack when coming across big friendly slobbering dogs off their leash who only want to make friends with cringing boring rich people who side-step them, eyes averted.
Boring rich people in Cayucos have big spotless newly minted homes, usually two stories, and they are constantly hovering around their turf making sure nothing is out of place, that the trash cans are hidden from view before being taken out on trash pick-up day, and taken in immediately after being emptied so as not to appear negligent as they slavishly bow to the cycle of maintenance; and of course their spanking new high-end luxury cars are always gleaming and spotless and never dusty and dirt-coated like those owned by the sparse scattering of paupers still clinging to Cayucos like barnacles.
Boring rich people can be really finicky, especially while dining in one of the two Cayucos high-end restaurants, where they judiciously and relentlessly question waiters about sauces threatening high cholesterol counts, gluten, and wine, for boring rich people, if they do drink, and mostly in moderation, sip wine, and can be easily disgruntled if their wine is not perfect on their educated palates, as many of the boring rich people in Cayucos spend much of their spare time visiting many of the over hundred vineyards out around Paso Robles and have invested much time on their computers scouring the very best in wine and studying various vintages, and they take pride in talking intelligently about wine as well as stocking many of the most acclaimed award winning wines for when their boring rich friends visit from their boring rich white communities where everything is safe and orderly as it should be.
Many of the older white boring rich men have haircuts and hair like Vice President Mike Pence, (and wives who imitate Nancy Reagan). They are always polite if fleetingly so, like Mike Pence is forced to be around liberal democrats who think he's a hypocrite and a Christ-crazed zealot, because he is of the highest profile and needs to be accepted and even liked if he is to continue being a boring rich white guy trying to pass laws that enhance the lives of fellow boring rich white people while fucking everybody else.
Boring rich people will not be caught dead in the old Cayucos Tavern, but sometimes on Friday evenings in the Schooner's Wharf, when the little bar is packed and the tables of diners are filled out on the deck, a boring rich couple will stand in the doorway observing the deafening racket, hoots, guffaws, and joyous idiocy raging among the Happy Hour's Who's Who that counts, realizing they must endure this little rowdy compartment if they wish to wait for seating outside. Only five feet away will be the Pirate, filthy from work, bushy beard stained with plaster, holding court with a crew of admiring reprobates like Jake Straw or Dwayne, a retired salesman who has been drinking VO and cokes since one in the afternoon, and possibly Tag Morely, who is at least elegantly clad, and myself, as we all partake in aimless, disconnected conversations where we are yelling at each other to be heard above the din; and, if the boring rich people happen to brave the crush and push toward the interior and receive the attention of the bartender, they might hear Straw and myself:
“Jake, do you realize you're the stupidest person in this bar!”
“So what! I'm happy being stupid! The less you know about this bullshit the better off you are!”
“Only good thing about you is you like dogs!”
“Only good thing about you, asshole, is YOU like dogs!”
“Your dogs are stupid just like you are! That's why they obey you!They don't know any better!”
“Your dog won't obey you, cuz he KNOWS you're stupid!”
“I'm not stupid. I'm a fucking published writer for Chrissake! I've read Dostoevski!”
“Never mind! I've read BUKOWSKI!”
“A drunken poet who lives with drunken whores and writes about their drunken sexual escapades!”
“Well, if I'm gonna read anybody, I'll read HIM!”
There's usually nowhere for the boring rich people to sit at this time, as the cushioned back seats with tables in front are taken by regulars, and they are being buffeted by gorgeous very young waitresses and Mexican busboys and the constantly circulating gadflies making the rounds...
...and so the boring rich couple, sometimes accompanied by another boring rich couple, all of whom came to dine with a magnificent view, are forced to wait downstairs by themselves, where there is no view and they will be all alone as they sit or stand among others waiting for a table, and so they end up going to one of the two high-end restaurants that are quiet and civilized and the wine list is extensive and excellent and they can settle comfortably into their hard won trappings, soothed by musak and the tinkle of cutlery, sans a view.