The ambience in Bob’s office might inspire Edward Hopper to set up his easel and open his paintbox. A portrait of two shadowy figures furtively burning the midnight oil. Nighthawks At The Paper Shredding Machine, perhaps. I often think it’s the sort of place where Bernie Madoff did his internship.
Last July, after placing a to-go order two egg rolls and a thing of fried rice, I made my bi-annual ascent of the Bob’s back stairs to deliver some important news. ‘For the next fiscal quarter, I’ll be switching up my Monopoly game,’ I told him. 'From the standard edition to one of those fancy theme editions based on popular movie franchises and other types of entertainment.'
His face darkened momentarily, as if this meant not just cooking my books but stewing them for several hours in a combination of congealed fraud sauce and dry-rubbed embezzlement. Fortunately, his mood lightened considerably as I explained my intention of playing the Harry Potter World of Wizardry version of Monopoly from now on.
'But you've always done okay as the Scottish Terrier; house on Connecticut Avenue; passing Go every year and collecting your two-hundred bucks; a little Community Chest now and then; not much Chance, zero Luxury Tax. It's a conservative strategy that's served you well. Why risk everything now with this trendy Gryffindor nonsense? I mean, you haven't even seen the films, never mind read the actual novels.'
'I know. It's just that I'm just sick of opening the same old Monopoly box each morning. Commuting around the same pale blue-green board every day, one or two spaces at a time, landing on the same boring Utilities. I really think I need some magic in my life.'
The day was drawing to a close. What natural light remained in Bob's office sank into shag-piles of dust and antediluvian coffee stains. We would have been arguing in the dark if it wasn't for the harsh yellow glow from an aggressively twisted Anglepoise lamp screwed into his desk. He took a deep, wheezy breath and sighed, then shrugged his heavily dandruff laden shoulders.
'Everybody want some magic in their lives,' he said eventually. 'Of course they do. I've been there myself. But are you sure you want to go straight from Pennsylvania Railroad to the Hogwarts Express? Clamping a broomstick between your legs, waving a wand around, chanting gibberish all day long. Seems like a very big jump to me. Too big for you. You'd misplace your Philosophers Stone before your turn to throw the dice. And you're way too conflict averse to play with evil characters like Lord Voldemort. He'd walk right over you. Imagine landing on one of his hotel properties. You'd be bankrupt in the first five minutes.'
'So you're telling me not to diversify my Hasbro portfolio; to forget the Harry Potter dividends and stick with regular everyday Monopoly?'
'Yeah. Stick with regular everyday Monopoly. Honestly, it's a fine old game with a proven track record. Absolutely you can swap out your Scotty Dog counter for the Top Hat. if you want. You deserve an upgrade after all these years of playing. Then simply wait your turn, throw the dice, collect your two hundred bucks, but let the big guys win. It's a safe bet that way, as safe as houses, provided your competition doesn't own the title deed for the property where the houses are.'
Bob's advice wasn't what I wanted to hear. But perhaps he was right. I was nearly sixty years old; slowly being swallowed by the whale of retirement like a decrepit, gray-haired Jonah; far too old for a Hogwarts freshman. After all, I'm merely an egg roll and fried rice guy, not some chiseled hero who fearlessly inhales enchanted elixirs from Goblets of Fire. At least, not during the week anyway. And nobody invites me to join the local Kiwanis club, never mind an Order of the Phoenix or other secret society. Who was I kidding to think I could survive and prosper in a Wizarding World of occult finance?
So I left Bob's office and shuffled downstairs to Panda Express, feeling somewhat disappointed yet content and relieved to be maintaining the fiscal status quo rather than learning a brand new game. I paid for my take-out with Visa, adding a decent tip as usual, even though the service was perfunctory at best. Credit cards, eh? Who needs magic when we already live in Never Never Land.
No comments:
Post a Comment