The Rebel Prince of Bel Air - HS2023

Sidney Harold Grosvenor was a trust fund kid. He trashed his first butler at the ripe old age of 5. For an atrocity such as crust left on his sandwich would not be tolerable.

He was taught this. Kids observe, and when you observe your parents act a certain way, it gets incorporated as normal behavior.

All he had to do was live to 18 to be a multi-millionaire.

They were riding in the back of their Bentley Limousine headed to a social function in downtown. Sydney was 8. The Freeway was at a standstill.

The chauffeur called the rear phone.

"Mr. Grosvenor, we are going have a long trip. The best bet may be Sepulveda and then Santa Monica all the way downtown"

"Just make it fast, I am expected by 5:30"

They had time.

A little over an hour later on surface streets they passed a homeless encampment by a Freeway entrance.

Sydney, after watching intently out the window, finally spoke up.

"Father, why are those people camping under the bridge? I have been seeing them the whole trip."

"They're not people son. They are untouchable. Diseased. Vile. World can do without them."

"But why don't they go to their homes?"

"They chose to lose at life, son. They are of a lower caste. This is the most interaction you will ever have. Your of elite stock, my son. You will learn from the best. You will be the best. You are the best. You're from Bel Air."

This was the mantra. Sydney went to private school. And after his IQ tested at 126 at 8 years old, a private Montessori attended by ridiculous named movie star children it became.

He grew into that prototypical person of affluence. He went to Stanford, postgraduate at Penn. All was lining up to succeed his father.

It was expected.

Years passed. He was "on his own," but still very much at that Bell Air estate. At his father's company climbing the nepotistic ladder.

At 25 he started to get perturbed. He grew increasingly resentful at his indoctrination, this VP CEO in-waiting, the arranged opulence was all he knew.

4 more years passed. Next year his father was set to retire early and hand off reigns to him at 30.

Sydney was at his desk. Years of this growing resentment began to breach his calm, the wealth inequality he felt his family was responsible for, the arranged life, the expectations to be a rich yacht club patron, he snapped.

He phoned his secretary.

"Ellie, tell my father I'll be taking a personal day. And you can go ahead and take the rest of the day off, I'll be in touch with you later."

It was a profound epiphany. He hated everything handed to him while everyone else suffered. He didn't want to be part of this. He wanted to remove himself from that class system.

He returned to his Brentwood condo. "This is it," he told himself, "I'm 29, I'm not doing this another 30 years."

He pulled out his clippers and promptly shaved his head. Bald as Billy Corgan.

He gave a call to his secretary.

"How much severance would you need. If I was to tell you I was leaving the company, and you are going to lose your job?"

"What do mean, she said?"

"I've had it, Ellie, and you're the only person there I like. How much would you need?"

She knew. She knew he wanted out, sympathy flowed through her. She low balled it.

"6 months pay?" she asked.

"Oh that's ridiculous, Ellie. I'm transferring 2.5 million into your account. Do what you will with it. Send your daughter the best university you can."

"Are you okay? That's awesome, but are you okay?"

"I'm done. I'm disappearing off my father's planet."

Before she could answer he hung up the phone and processed the transfer through his bank with the very next call.

Go time.

He packed a bag. A blanket. Minimal possessions. Instructed his accountant to give all his remaining cash to homeless charities and left for his new life.

He caught the bus and headed towards central LA. A quick stop at Walmart for tent, a sleeping bag, and a pillow, and he was ready to find a new home.

Sunset BLVD near the 101.

The manicured aristocrat, pitched his tent 20 feet from another. A heroin addict was passed out on the sidewalk.

"This is perfect", he thought.

Right there, underneath that lamp pole in his tent he sat and began to contemplate why it is the world is so f*cked.

Multi-millionaire no more. He hoped for anonymity when word got out. This path had just begun.

The End...

I have been poor and if not rich at least well off... I would prefer rich.. S&F

a reply to: Degradation33

S/F I think the Pumpkins would love this! 🎃

a reply to: JJproductions

Billy Corgan doesn't like anything...

Thank you in any case.

a reply to: 727Sky

I have been poor and if not rich at least well off... I would prefer rich.. S&F

I think everyone that doesn't shave their head for weird spiritual reasons does.

Thank you, as well.

a reply to: Degradation33

lol, I met him in Florida once and he was rude. Asked me for a cigarette. I said I don’t smoke. He gave me a mean look and walked away! You are right!

a reply to: Degradation33

The nearly irresistible pull toward familiar places.
He probably passed that spot hundreds of times to and from work,
without once thinking of it as home,
yet there he is.

I hope he gets a hat fairly soon.

a reply to: Degradation33

Good one, Degradation33.

Two things in your story evoked some fond memories. I got my first office job in central London when I was 20. The company was called Grosvenor Square Properties and the Chairman had a Bentley for a company car. I took many rides in it when accompanying him or the House Manager on random errands.

I also met a few millionaires that reverted to humble living by choice... I don't know how that worked out for them, as I never heard from them again.

a reply to: Encia22

Lol.

I needed a G name. There are no whitebread English aristocracy names close to Gautama. Sydney was close enough though.

Mere coincidence with names, but funny nonetheless.

Sort of inspired.

I was in Santa Monica yesterday. A lot of Bentleys to be seen. And if you want more British coincidence, we went to "Ye Olde King's Head Pub" for lunch. Love that place. There are too many people gawking at possible celebrity sightings though.

LA is better experienced in hours long daytrips and then written about. It was inspired by rich people.

Venice is freaking disgusting now.

originally posted by: FullHeathen
a reply to: Degradation33

The nearly irresistible pull toward familiar places.
He probably passed that spot hundreds of times to and from work,
without once thinking of it as home,
yet there he is.

I hope he gets a hat fairly soon.

There might be a follow-up where he finds enlightenment and then dies of food poisoning from food he is too gracious to turn down..

a reply to: Degradation33

I think that enlightenment for him may mean that the binary choice presented by his father may have been way too limited.

a reply to: Degradation33

Bald as Billy Corgan.

I shave my head, but not in any support of Billy Corgan, much as I once liked his music. I really liked that line, by the way.

I once lived this way, so your tale really resonates with me. I didn't disparage wealth, because I had none. Never rubbed elbows with anyone that had any. Although altruistic, I enjoyed the outlook of your character and your writing of it.

a reply to: argentus

Thank you.

I wanted to do an LA Buddha. That's why with the shaved head and revulsion of the caste system. Simplication in the extreme.

a reply to: Degradation33

Nice modern adaptation of the Buddha narrative. Presumably your protagonists initials (SHG) are a nod to SiddHartha Gautama? Makes me want to read the Hesse novel again. Nice work S+F.

Not a bad story.

Here is an article where other rich people gave up their fortunes for various reasons, most of them noble.