Isn't That Rich?: Life Among the 1 Percent by Richard Kirshenbaum, Michael Gross

the [ über exclusive North Shore golf club], bloodies at the [fortresslike Palm Beach private club].”
    “So no drugs?”
    “Let’s just say I’m trying to teach myself to do coke more. I bought a spoon.”
    “Teach yourself? Why?”
    “I’ve gained so much weight from the beer and vodka, I’m starting to resemble a keg.”
    The next week, I met a golf buddy at Sant Ambroeus for a fluffy egg white omelette and espresso. As we were catching up, he said that his twelve-year-old son had walked into the apartment unannounced and smelled the marijuana.
    “That’s not cigarette smoke. Is that what I think it is? That’s illegal , Dad !!!”
    My friend tried to explain that adults sometimes relax in other ways.
    “Who are you buying this from?” the son lectured. “These are bad people. Dad, do you want to go to JAIL?” he pleaded.
    A similar story was relayed to me as well when a friend’s daughter came home early and caught my friend, a conservative Madison Avenue private equity guy, smoking weed. The daughter shrieked, “Dad, what are you doing?” The father turned white and said—and I quote: “It’s not mine, I’m just holding it for a friend.”
    The digital landscape has transformed everything, from book and food delivery to drug delivery.
    “In college I used to have to go to some grungy park and meet ‘the guy,’” said one of New York’s high fliers. “Now it’s just a text away. It’s like when I first moved to New York and I could order in moo shu chicken. I thought having a doorman and ordering in takeout was the ultimate luxury. Now I’m getting the weed delivered to my doorstep. It’s the next level of delivery!”
    “I felt that way about Fresh Direct a few years back,” the wife interjected, “and our dealer is very stylish. You should see, he’s all in Dolce. In fact, I asked him where he got his blazer and told him to pick one up for Mark (not his real name) in a size forty-two.”
    “Oh, I love that blazer. I didn’t realize it was from Yves (not his real name).”
    “Now he’s adding personal shopping as an extra service,” she said admiringly.
    “I have a different theory,” Respected Uptown Therapist revealed in his office. Why do they all love Danish Modern furniture with nubby fabric? I wondered.
    “There’s an enormous amount of social pressure in New York City. To be thin, to be beautiful, to be rich and successful.” He stroked his Freudian goatee. “There’s a term, ‘relative deprivation.’”
    “Meaning?”
    “You may have it all but you are relatively deprived compared to someone who has much more than you have. And then it’s about appearances.”
    “I call it the press release,” I offered. “Don’t forget everyone has perfect children as well who are all geniuses and savants .”
    “With all this pressure, the drugs, drinking, and partying are the pressure valves. The more pressure, the more need for release.”
    “Perhaps that’s why it’s happening more in New York City?”
    “It is undeniable that it is more stressful in the city. When you’re doing drugs, you forget your problems. I see a lot of wives doing drugs to escape their husbands’ reduced bonuses.”
    “Sounds like high school all over again.”
    “Yes. Even down to the rich popular kids. Only now they’re parents.”
    Just this week I woke up in wrenching pain and headed to the dentist.
    “You have a fractured tooth and it needs to come out. Most likely you’ll need an implant.”
    I always say toothache is as bad as heartache, but not nearly as romantic.
    “Give me every painkiller you have,” I begged. “I also have a business function at six I have to attend.” First came the Novocain, then the crushed Triazolam, then the gas. Two hours later I awoke, numb and swollen and still flying.
    “I have one question,” I asked the staff as they helped me to the waiting room. “Do you think it’s OK if I make the cocktails? I have a few people I want to