This society is run by old white men.

I'm dead serious.

Working at a high class restaurant like I do, you run into a lot of extremely rich people. Most of them look a lot alike

Suits, receding hairlines, wandering eyes, manicured wives.

The more and more I work there, the less and less that I envy the rich. Some of them are so quirky, and so unhappy, it makes me begin to appreciate not having everything that I want.

So tonight, Mr. Abercrombie and Mr. Fitch came to dine at my restaurant. They looked like my grandfather. Abercrombie is a man in his fifties with khakis and a knit sweater. Fitch is a large man with a blue shirt and a pocket protector. And as I sat there, watching these three seemingly ordinary gentleman decide what next years look was going to be. These men, who are half the reason that teenagers go home and empty their accounts on short skirts and the hottest thing,

are old, white men.

Kind of like the company owners at the next table. And the pharmaceutical company in the gold room.

From the clothes I wear to the paper I read, it's starting to seem like the same people control everything.

Old white men run this town.