SPEAK OUT

by Rich Arenschieldt

TALES FROM THE DARK SIDE

Two chance encounters provide a glimpse into a corporate spectacle

Every year has a marker that distinguishes it from the prior one. In 2000 it was the predicted universe collapse as the result of Why2K. The Twin Towers tragedy indelibly stamped 2001. Last year echoed with the question, “How can a cadre of greedy people shake the world’s confidence in the American capitalistic system?” A year on, we have just observed the “paper” anniversary of the Enron mess, a spectacle many investors viewed from atop a pile of worthless stock certificates and amid 401K plans best described as “ephemeral.” Part of American folklore, the decimation of billions in individual wealth is now fodder for television commercials. In the past weeks I collided with two of the major players in the theft of our time.

My first encounter was with the bad-boy-turned-federal witness against Enron. This twerp’s plea bargain proves that not every gay man desires to be at the bottom of the pole in the penitentiary. (I imagine the cast of players in the real Oz isn’t nearly as hunky as the HBO illusionists would have us believe.)

This meeting was a situation I couldn’t avoid. Instead of telling him, “If half of what reported about you is true, I hope you are force-fed nothing but used kitty litter for the rest of your life,” I pretended not to know who he was. Call me a coward, but I really didn’t know what to do or the proper etiquette when meeting an alleged heinous criminal. I mumbled something about the volunteer endeavor he was engaged in, and the enfant terrible looked me straight in the eye and said, “Well, at the end of the day I just want to feel good about myself.” I must have lost consciousness for a nanosecond. When my head stopped spinning, my first thought was, “You could have done that before you engineered schemes to defraud thousands of people of millions of dollars.” Dumbfounded, I simply walked away.

Weeks later, I strolled into my favorite Thai restaurant and spotted a couple I have known and worked with when I was a portfolio manager responsible for $500 million of other people’s money. (If they only knew—a gay guy babysitting all their right-wing assets.) We exchanged surprised pleasantries typical for encounters that happen every five years. I asked the hubby what he was doing, to which he replied, “Oh, I work [present tense] at Enron.” Without thinking, I expressed my condolences: “That must be a tough place to work right now. What happened to all those people is just criminal.”

A moment passed. I got an unsettled feeling in my gut. Mr. Enron guy looked me in the eye and, with an earnestness that defied reality, responded, “What happened to all those people—it was only money.” This comment didn’t make me lose consciousness. It had the opposite effect. Suddenly every neuron in my brain fired at once. I glanced at the wife, seeking confirmation of what I have just heard. She smiled blandly.

I decided not to walk away. In a stage voice loud enough to be heard by all in the restaurant, I responded, “You mean to tell me that if you woke up one morning and EVERYTHING you had worked for was gone, it would only be money?” Again, he peered at me. “Maybe the events of the last few months will help people realize what is really important in their lives.” Stupefied, I realized that this man thought he had done nothing wrong.

This chat concluded, I joined my dinner companions, sputtering with rage. I took a sip of water to regain my composure. A small roach crawled out of my glass and into my mouth. Normally, I would have vomited at such a thing. But I was fine. It didn’t sicken me nearly as much as the meeting that had just occurred.

These chance encounters have given me a direct link into the upper echelon of the Enron corporate psyche. The lie these men pursued so permeated their minds that it morphed, to them, into the truth.

Darth Vader and I have something in common. We’ve both seen the dark side.

A friend who is a talented social worker recently jumped into the for-profit world. “It’s great,” she exclaimed at the time. “I’ve got a company car, corporate American Express card, and I don’t have to worry about funding or job security. What a relief!” Twelve weeks later, when asked about her work, she pauses. “You know, it’s okay. But there’s just no higher purpose to what I’m doing.”

Rich Arenschieldt reflected on the bleak prospects for AIDS funding in the December OutSmart.

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