The Millionaire Myth

Chapter 1

              When people ask me what I do I tell them I'm in real estate. I know it's not as impressive as it was a few years ago-when the market was booming, and you couldn't look around without seeing someone slapping a “sold!” sign on their front lawn. But, it's still more impressive than what I really do, which is sit on my ass in a swivel chair. Technically (and yes, I know that when someone uses the word technically, you know they're full of crap) I do work in a real estate office. But the closest I get to the actual real estate is printing up listings and scurrying them over to agents.

             
Ah yes, the agents.

             
The agents at Lawson & Stone are certainly a sight to behold.  Every one of them dressed immaculately, not a strand of hair out of place thanks to the well practiced application of high-priced product.  This, you should know, goes for both the men and women.  When I first started working in the office I had a panic attack every morning, trying to get my size fourteen no-label clothing to pass for acceptable.  What a waste of time.  It didn't matter how I dressed, because no one bothered to give the lowly receptionist the time of day.  After my first week I forgot about trying to impress them.

             
Forgetting about the agents was surprisingly simple; my attention was always on the clients.  I loved meeting them and hearing their stories.  There were the young, overwhelmed first-time buyers, the older couples, who were well-versed in the game of buying and selling, and so many in between.  Regardless of their reasons for finding themselves at Lawson & Stone, I was always a little envious of their new adventures.

             
One Tuesday morning, just ten minutes after I'd unlocked the front glass door, a couple entered the office.  The wife, judging from her dazzling, round cut wedding set, was tall and slim.  A piece of her dark brown hair was in the fist of the boy on her hip.  He looked to be about two, and immensely attached to his mom's locks. 

             
She turned to her husband with a pleading look.  Her husband, barely taller than her, with almost white blond hair, took the child off her hands so that she could dig through her enormous purse that mom's invariably carry.  Once they had the little boy distracted with a Hot Wheel, they approached the desk smiling broadly.

             
“Hi.  We're here to see Mick.”  The woman practically sang, “He's expecting us.”

             
I smiled, nodded, and told them that I'd let Mick know.  I picked up the phone to dial his extension as I watched them sit down.  They were holding hands, bubbling over with excitement.

             
First time buyers, no question.

             
I hung up mid-ring as Mick rounded the corner of the hallway and held his arms out, a wide grin plastered on his face.  “Mr. and Mrs. Kern,” he boomed.  “Are we ready to make your dreams come true?”

             
I stifled a chuckle.  It was a bit over the top, even for Slick.  But I couldn't deny it; overconfident always worked for him.  He was well known for his ability to talk people-well, women-into anything.  Slick was infamous for talking women into homes while their husbands were at work.  I'd seen him in action in the office.  He'd lean in close, give her his best, “I'm here for you” look, then thoughtfully ask, “Don't you
deserve
a home like this?  If this is the one you want, then you shouldn't let anything stop you.”

             
Of course, he didn't mean anything, he meant
anyone
.  Specifically, the poor schlub who was at work in that moment, earning the money that would pay for the dream digs.

             
Which is why I was surprised to see him give Mr. Kern a firm handshake and only nod at Mrs. Kern.  Looked like he was using a different approach today. 

             
“Did you two decide on a final budget, or is the sky the limit?”  Slick playfully patted Mr. Kern on the back.

             
“Well, we know we don't want to spend more than five hundred thousand.  We want to put some of the money into savings,” Mrs. Kern answered as she switched her son to her other hip.

             
Slick responded with his patented understanding nod.  “Absolutely.  That's a good decision.”

             
I was shamefully eavesdropping, and when I heard the words, “five hundred thousand” my jaw dropped.  These two couldn't be older than twenty-five.  Someone's had been working some serious overtime.

             
Mrs. Kern caught me spying and smiled at me.  “I know, it's a lot of money, but we just won six hundred thousand dollars in the lottery.”  She gazed dreamily at her husband as she continued, “And we finally get to buy our dream house.”

             
Finally get to buy your dream house?  How long could you have been dreaming about it?

             
“Wow, congratulations!  You must be so excited.”

             
Without even glancing at me, Slick spoke for them, “Yes, they are very excited, and that's why we should get going.”  He motioned to the front door.  “Let's get out there and find that perfect family home.”

             
I watched them leave the office, giggling and chatting nonstop.  I couldn't believe it.  They won six hundred thousand dollars, and they're spending five hundred of it on a house?  I shook my head as I went back to work, wondering how long it would be before every penny of their winnings was a distant memory.

Chapter 2

             
Saturday morning.  How am I spending it?  I'm on my hands and knees (get your mind out of the gutter) scrubbing my linoleum kitchen floor.  My apartment was usually a huge mess, but I was frustrated, and cleaning is what I did to get my energy out.  I'd already tried mopping the floor, but it's that annoying pitted kind that you can't get really clean unless you spend some quality time with a scrub brush.

             
Breathing in the fumes from the floor cleaner, I grunted as I worked on an inside corner by the cabinets and grumbled to myself,
“God damned know-it-all.  Thinks he's so hot, of course no one can turn him down.”

             
I was grumbling about Slick.  I couldn't get over how pompous he was.  The other week, after he'd shown the lucky lottery winners a few homes, he brought them back to the office to write up an offer.  After he led them to a conference room, he came up to me with a smug grin plastered on his face.

             
He leaned over the counter and cleared his throat.  “Um, Estelle, right?” 

             
He chuckled as he said my name, as if I wasn't aware that it was horrible.  My mom said she thought it was classic.  The woman was out of her mind. You hear Estelle, you picture a woman hunched over a walker with those tennis balls on the legs.

             
Slick continued to instruct me in an impatient tone, “I need you to go and fetch me two coffees, one black and one with two sugars.”  When I didn't lunge from my chair immediately, he snapped his fingers as if I were an untrained dog.  Ignoring my look of disbelief, he repeated himself, “Did you hear what I just said?  Two coffees.  One
Black
.  One with,” he held up two fingers.  “
Two
sugars.”

             
He whipped around, making a beeline back to his meal ticket.  I took a deep breath and went to get the coffee.  As I mixed two sugars into one of the cups, I considered spitting in it, but resisted.  Don't be impressed, it's not because I'm at all above that behavior, it's because I knew the coffee wasn't for him.  Slick never had me get his coffee.  I guess he wasn't a complete idiot.

             
I balanced the two cups as I knocked softly on the door.  Slick waved me in without looking up.  As I set the coffee down, Mrs. Kern was asking, “Do you think we should offer less than they're asking?  I've heard that no one ever gives a full price offer in today's market.”

             
Slick leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.  With a voice filled with compassion he advised, “You can certainly come in with a lower offer.  Before you do though, keep in mind that they're asking four hundred, seventy-five.  That's still under your maximum budget.”  Leaning forward, he put his hands on the table.  “If you really want this house-and I think you do, judging from how you lit up when you saw that kitchen,”  Slick winked at Mrs. Kern.  “Then why take the risk, right?”

             
Mr. Kern looked at his wife, both of them obviously in uncharted waters.  As I walked out of his office, I heard Slick sink a little lower, “C'mon, you two won the lottery. 
The lottery.
  When will you ever get this chance again?  You don't want to lose the house, do you?”

             
The only thing that kept me silent was my employment.  Even that was barely enough of a reason.  I felt for this couple.  As if they couldn't find another house in the half-million dollar range?  He was such a sleazy salesman.

             
I finished scrubbing the floor and slowly stood up, my back popping. 

             
That never used to happen when I was in my twenties.

             
I was still aggravated,  but not enough to clean.  I flopped onto my couch and turned on the TV.  I kept thinking about the Kerns.  Where would they be in ten years?  Would they regret buying that house? Would they regret how much the money had changed them?

              Looking around at my apartment I wondered what I'd do if I won the lottery.  I liked to think it wouldn't change me.  I was a saver, not a spender.  I'd pay off my car and buy a few things, but I really didn't think I'd change all that much.

             
Maybe that was crap though.  I bet anyone who'd ever won the lottery told themselves they wouldn't change.  Cut to a week after they've won the cash, I bet most of them are at the car dealership, accepting the keys to their new dream ride while their new house was being decked out with brand new flat screens and a built-in pool.

             
I chuckled as an idea hit me.  Regardless of how much I'd change, there was no way to measure how much the people at Lawson & Stone would morph.  I bet they'd all break their backs, trying to become the receptionist's best friend.  Now that's a show I'd buy tickets for.

Chapter 3

             
My friend Kami finished changing her son's diaper, got up off the floor and eyed me skeptically.  “You're going to do
what?
”             

             
“I'm going to tell everyone at work that I've come into a lot of money.” I paused to reconsider.  “Well,
I'm
not going to tell them, because that's not as believable.  I'm going to let it slip, and let the gossip mill do its job.”

             
“Why exactly?”

             
I looked at her in disbelief.  “Kami, do you remember what it was like to work there?” 

             
Kami and I met when I was hired at Lawson & Stone.  She was eight months pregnant and I was replacing her.  We bonded during my two weeks of training.  She gave me the low down on everyone in the office, and our friendship was cemented when I got her a baby present on her last day.  She actually teared up when she saw it, explaining that  I was the only one from work who gave her something.  I was shocked.  You'd think with the fat commissions, the agents would buy a present for the woman who'd been running their errands for the past two years.

             
Kami sighed and nodded.  “Of course I remember.  You know how happy I was to get out of there, but I still don't see how this is going to help your work environment.”

             
I shook my head and insisted, “This will
absolutely
change things.  I don't think it'll lead to a promotion or a proposal or anything.”  I paused and thought about it.  “Though the latter is definitely possible, depending on how much money they think I have...Anyway, at the very least, it'll be entertaining.”

             
She shrugged.  “I guess that's true.”  Kami snickered as she put LBJ (Not Lyndon Baines Johnson, Little Bitty Jack) in his Jumper.  “I just got a picture...Slick with his jaw on the floor when he hears that you're loaded.”

             
“See?  That alone is reason enough to do it.”

             
“How much are we talking about here?”

             
I looked at the ceiling while I pondered the amount.  It couldn't be too much-I didn't want anyone going crazy, but it had to be enough to turn heads.  I looked back at Kami.  “What do you think of maybe...nine hundred thousand?”

             
She looked surprised.  “Oh, I thought you'd at least say a million.  When you think of lottery winners, you think millionaires.”
              “True, but I already thought about that.  Saying I won the lottery is too complicated.  Too easy to prove that I'm lying.  I'm going to go with inheritance.  That way people shouldn't be too nosy because they'll think I've lost someone close to me.”

             
She looked at me with awe.  “Should I be worried that you're this good at lying?”

             
I rolled my eyes and waved my hand at her.  “Please, this is just fun.  I'm not hurting anyone.  Okay, so back to the money, I want to stay under the million mark because I feel like it's less flashy.  I don't want to be kidnapped or anything.  But nine hundred is still plenty impressive, right?”

             
Kami nodded.  “Um, yeah!  If I met someone with nine hundred thousand bucks just lying around, Jack might have something to worry about.”  She looked over at her son who was bouncing to beat the band.  “Not you little man, I'm talking about Daddy.”

             
I watched her closely as I asked, “Do you think this is stupid?”

             
She looked over and I could see that she was being honest with me.  “No.  I think you're right; it'll be a lot of fun.  Like you said, it's not going to hurt anyone.  Just make sure you keep me filled in.”  After a second she added, “Oh, and if you ever really do inherit that kind of money, we expect some serious presents around here.”