It was strange coming into my office this morning—looking at it for the last time through the lens of someone who actually needs the office to earn a living. You see, by this time tomorrow, I will be roughly $350,000,000.00 richer (after taxes). Maybe, I’ll stumble in tomorrow around noon, unkempt with a screwdriver in hand. I’ll put my feet up and make vacation plans. I won’t be able to decide if we will go to California or Hawaii and then it will hit me, we’ll go to both! But I’d stay relatively grounded and make the vacation reservations, and my cocktails, myself.
What next? Vacation reservations made. I likely should talk to a banker or consider how I am going to invest a portion of my $350 million so I don’t become Vince Young and go broke. But banker talk can wait—my feet are up whilst spilling my vodka/soda on my desk, I need to figure out some important things: where the hell are we going to live? (when you’re a super millionaire, you have to use words like “whilst” rather than “while”… I read that on the internet)
I am a proud Chicagoan, so my primary residence would be here. So I’d spend a little time getting Derrick Rose’s number to see where he lives and inquire if the floor above him is vacant. Of course, we’d need our New York City pied-a-terre, likely in SoHo (pied-a-terre is another one of those super millionaire words, by the way). I’d set up appointments with a real estate agent in NYC when we return from Hawaii sometime in late April.
Now, that it’s 5:00pm somewhere, I’ll summon an associate to fetch me a bottle of scotch (use of the word “”fetch” is more proof I’d stay grounded to my roots). Amy would likely be in my office too, nodding at suggestions of the Porsche 911 I will test drive when I sober up sometime next week (Ferraris and Lamborghinis are just so not me!).
A real estate broker in Miami would be on the line—because we’ll winter dere (again, use of the word “winter” is proof I’m rich; but use of the word “dere” as opposed to “there” is proof I’m a grounded Chicagoan). Then, we’d have to call Omaha, as that is where Amy is from, to get a place there.
That is A LOT of work for my first day as a super millionaire. So I’d have to abruptly hang up with Warren Buffett (again, I’m on the line with Omaha) so Amy and I could muster up the energy to get steak and lobster somewhere close.
But yes, after all of that, one day I will sober up and return to work. I’ll write full-time and instead of writing about what I’d say to Barack Obama if I had the chance, I’ll let you all know what I told Barry when I saw him last week. I’ll confirm that George W. Bush is much more fun to have beers with than John Kerrey and Al Gore. However, I’d likely have to keep my nights on the town with Bill Clinton private.
So even though one of my tickets is a lock to win, I implore you to still play. I want you to have the same caviar dreams I am having right now. So as you go through your Wednesday, wistfully looking at your surroundings like that old car you just sold, be thankful for the life you’re living now. Because with $350 million, you’ll have a host of new problems: like which party to go to next Thursday—the one hosted by Jay Z and Beyonce or Brad and Angelina.