Yesterday morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of titanium hitting a wood surface and instantly remembered the dinner I had a decade ago with the CEO of a billion-dollar real estate investment firm that had been my largest client for 25+ years. I had arranged the dinner to ask the CEO to renew my contract for another two years. For an hour I listened to the details about his latest book purchases. Prior to dinner (he had arrived 30 minutes late), he had been at the Barnes & Noble next door where he had spent $1,300 on books — “less than I usually spend when I go there; they have a special cart for me.”
When the check arrived, he pulled out a black American Express credit card and tossed it on the table. “Hear that?” he said. “That’s titanium. Anodized titanium. Only about 1,000 people in the country have a card that makes this sound. Listen again.” He tossed it again and looked at me. “This card comes with a special phone number. If I need anything, I just pick up the phone and a person on the other end says, ‘Mr. Sovereign [not his real name], what can I do for you?’ and she’ll do anything. One of my kids wanted to see Coldplay in concert tonight, but tickets had been sold out for months. She got me four tickets plus a backstage tour to meet the band.”
I stared at him blankly, trying to work up the courage to ask him to renew my contract.
Yesterday morning, haunted by the sound of titanium, I googled “American Express Titanium Credit Card” and learned that it weighs 14 grams, requires a $10,000 initiation fee, a $5,000 annual fee and a minimum $250,000 in annual purchases. It comes with 24/7 personalized concierge service and complimentary elevation to elite status at the world’s most prestigious hospitality, fitness center and rental car brands, blah, blah, blah, PLUS that unique titanium sound.
Last year, Prada introduced, “the intimidatingly stylish new face of wearable technology — the American Express Centurion payment bracelet” which “unlocks a lifestyle like no other. Crafted from the finest full grain Saffiano leather, the double wrap bracelet is all black save for the metal buckle and imperceptibly small microchip housed within.” It can be yours for only $2,500.00.
While googling, I was struck by the images on my computer screen.
The contrast could not have been more profound. Many studies have shown how the rich are oblivious to other people’s problems. Mo’ money, no basic humility and empathy, as the saying goes. I recognize that many people of means are very generous to those in need. Many, in fact, have been very generous to me. But today I just can’t get the sound of titanium out of my head. The CEO tossed that card onto the table, not once, but twice. Twice. But he was mistaken about one thing — he is one of 84,000 privileged people who have this card, not 1,000.
He did not renew my contract.
A shout out to Adrienne who came up with the title of this post after I shared with her how the sound of titanium woke me up.
I had no idea how potent that particular encounter with this CEO had been for me.
Unfortunately, similar encounters with Mr. “Sovereign” have come roaring back. Guess I picked the wrong week to give up quaaludes.
Mr. Sovereign had piles of books in his home office that were at a minimum four feet high. Several of these piles surrounded his brown leather reading chair. He used one pile to set his drinks on, two smaller piles to prop his feet while he read.
He referred to himself as a “classical scholar” and, wait for it . . . “a poet.” I once quoted Emily Dickinson to him, “Success is counted sweetest/By those who ne’er succeed.” He probably didn’t quite hear me because he responded, “Did I once say that?”
Adrienne reminded me yesterday that Mr. Sovereign seldom read his books. I did.
He was once invited to a luncheon where he had been asked to speak about Francis Fukuyama’s book, “Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity.” While on his way to his car and driver, he asked me, “Do I agree with this book?”
I responded, “In general, yes, but not really chapter 5 [entitled, “Social Virtues”]. You might want to scan it in the car on the way.”
The origin of the word, “titanium” is “titan.” Of. Course.
Wow stunning details and great character description as usual. He is truly self-absorbed and oblivious to others, let alone the needs of others. You were an audience not a person in your own right. I wonder if the sound of titanium is the sound of the bell tolling. “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls—-“
“You were an audience.”
Never quite thought of it that way, Charlotte, but yes, I was an audience of one, at his mercy. And he KNEW it. That’s the most repulsive thing about this encounter.
Thank you for taking a couple of moments to read and comment.
Upon further reflection, I believe the most repulsive thing about this encounter is that I LISTENED to this man. I allowed myself to be at his mercy. I kissed his ass ALL THE TIME, and it wasn’t enough to renew my contract.
Wish I had learned this lesson a hellavu lot sooner.
Sigh! And doesn’t this man sound so much like Jesus!
Sharon, you speak powerfully here for all who are/have been unseen, unnoticed, un-cared for by the narcissistic wealthy who focus only on their personal prosperity. This piece speaks volumes about the upside down state of our world today. A gem of writing!
Thank you, Carol.
I stopped myself from including the ironic detail that this man was an evangelical Christian who graduated from Wheaton College. He praised and thanked Jesus a lot in front of others. I remember the time that quarterly earnings for one of his funds were parTICularly good. He said aloud, “Praise God, now we can afford a corporate jet.”
Just what Jesus would say, no?
Thanks for including a link with the actual sound of titanium. I am now a huge fan of the little machines which purchasers use to slip in their own card. The cashiers of America had certainly had enough of people flipping their titanium cards onto the counter, just to feel special.
You’re welcome, Beth.
The cashiers are also probably grateful for the Prada bracelet which I believe makes no sound at all while making a transaction for groceries or a yacht or something like that.
I don’t find the two images on your computer screen contrasting at all. They both reek of the stink of entitlement.
Point well made. Thank you.
Seems to me I heard ….somewhere, dunno….that hearing is the last sense that we lose at death. The verifiability of this is lost on me, but your post does give the power of sound it’s due. I think about the deliberately slammed door, the stifled laugh, the wheeze of diseased lung, the change in tone of a lying voice…………Lordy, people. Sound can be a Mother.