Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Once upon a time—before billionaires had Twitter accounts and space hobbies—there was a rich guy who was, let’s be honest, a complete dick. Classic Dickens setup. Enter three ghosts, because apparently even in the 1800s HR didn’t exist, so hauntings were the preferred performance review.

Ghost #1: Past.

Shows up like an old mixtape and reminds Rich Guy that, once upon a time, he wasn’t such a raging asshole. He had friends. Dreams. A soul. You know, before compound interest replaced empathy.

Ghost #2: Present.

Rolls in to show how his current behavior is screwing over everyone around him—overworked employees, struggling families, the general vibe of society. This is where Rich Guy is supposed to feel bad. And miraculously, in the original story, he does.

Ghost #3: Future.

Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t lecture. Just shows Rich Guy that no one will miss him. No statues. No warm memories. Just a shrug and a clearance sale. This hits the ego, and boom, redemption arc unlocked.

Cue transformation. He gives money away. People cheer. Christmas is saved. Capitalism grows a conscience for about five minutes.

Now here’s the Gen X problem: this story does not work anymore.

Today’s oligarchs would watch the whole ghost PowerPoint and say, “Cool story, bro,” then write it off as a tax deduction. They don’t care about the past, they outsource the present, and the future? They assume they’ll be remembered forever because their name is already on a stadium, a rocket, or a democracy-sized loophole.

Rockefeller and Carnegie at least wanted a legacy. Libraries. Museums. Plaques. Today’s ultra-rich don’t want to be loved—they want to be unavoidable. Conscience is optional. Consequences are for other people.

So a modern Christmas Carol wouldn’t end with redemption. It would end with the ghosts being laid off, Scrooge launching into low Earth orbit, and Tiny Tim being told to “learn to code.”

God bless us, everyone. Or at least the shareholders. 🎄