If I had a Gazillion Bucks
“What would you do if you had an unlimited amount of money?”. I was recently asked by my bespectacled cousin. It was a serious question; not the kind I could have slipped by with flippant answers like “Buy off the legal system and go ramming traffic police-vehicles with my customized Ferrari.” Now, unlimited financial freedom is too heavy a concept for my brain cell. My answers seemed to stem around the ridiculously simple ones.
“Hmm… Unlimited amount of money, eh? I’d start some business, invest my money…”
“Eh? Why? Dude, you don’t need any more money. You have an UNLIMITED supply”
“Oh. Ok. Then I’ll just travel the world, write some books, market them properly…”
“Why? Why do you want to do all that? You have an UNLIMITED amount of money. You can do whatever you want. You don’t need to invest time and effort on work.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re right. I’ll just… I’ll… I’ll simply buy an existing company… something that can sustain itself. That won’t require much work from my…”
I’ve asked around, and apparently, most people have thought about this at some point… It’s like Required Dreaming for the Working. And they’ve thought about it hard. I know someone who know exactly what model of hovercraft he would get handcrafted and what alloy he would use to emblazon his initials with. It was yet another arena of thought that the Hammy persona had fallen behind. This got me thinking, and thinking bulges the nerves on my forehead… a decidedly unpretty sight… I gave some real thought to the concept of perennial wealth; of unwavering financial might; of true pecuniary excess…
Now what would I do with a gazillion bucks?
A house would be a good start. Now what kind of house would Hammy, the multigazillionaire want? Being a product of perfunctory City life, I would live in a house modeled after a Hypermarket. It would be expansive, air conditioned, and guarded 24/7. It would have a parking space for all 27 of my current cars up front, additional space for guests’ vehicles to the side, and a helicopter launchpad right smack in the middle, though admittedly that’s not the accepted style for the hypermart of today.
There would be guards stationed at the gates trained to yell at wandering wannabe-shoppers in four different languages – “Move along. Move it!! This is not a Hypermart. Do your shopping elsewhere.” I shall have a four member staff at the front desk, whose ONLY job would be to say “Good morning/ evening/ night, sir. Have a nice day.” I won’t keep a fridge or a storage room for my stuff. I shall actually have the items placed in proper shop display, from where I shall pick up food/ snacks/ other items in a shopping cart, carry it to the counter, and pay for it using MY own credit card, which will work only for me and my immediate family.
In times of boredom, I shall engage in shoplifting, trying to outwit a hired actor who’d play the part of the nervous, but agile security guard. All the staff members would be paid top dollar for their part… Yes, I shall actually get my money converted to dollars just so I can use the expression ‘top dollar’ a bit more freely.
Once I pass through the Hypermartish entrance, I shall move on to the oceanside BBYY Hotel, where I’ll have entire floors instead of rooms; my studio, my bed-floor, my kitchen-floor, the living-floor, the bath-floor, the home theater floor, the jogging floor, the video-game floor, the library-floor, the liquor floor, and I’ll have a few floors kept for guests. I shall even have actors playing the part of neighbors. I wouldn’t mind having Julia Roberts or Johnnie Depp living a floor below… And I’ll have a large swimming pool filled with a mixture of vodka and Sprite.
I shall have to use personalized speed-bikes to travel within the house.
I shall frequently fly my own jet labeled ‘The Blah Blahs’ or ‘The BBYYs’ right up to a remote location and eject to watch it crash on the debris of all my older jets. I shall shoot the explosions on video and distribute them freely on the net.
I shall even have a store exclusively for giving away my old stuff, such as day-old clothes, shoes, food, and beverages; week-old shoes, watches, glasses, etc; year-old cars, bikes, helicopters, etc…
I shall replicate this structure in all the major countries in the world so that I can travel without the worry of finding decent accommodation.
I shall also produce a Hollywood movie…. in a story written, directed, produced, and casted by me. It shall be the most expensive movie ever made… The director’s chair alone would have the budget of the X-Men trilogy.
Dammit. I’m tired of thinking. The vein bulging on my forehead is threatening to erupt into a mini-flood…. Waitaminute. I got it.
I’ll hire a team of creative experts who’d come up with newer ways to spend my money. Teenagers would be ideal. What do you think?