As I’ve progressed further and further through university, I’ve grown to realise that when I finally do graduate, I have little desire to get a graduate job.
Sometimes when I think about this, I wonder if my whole time here has been pointless. Other times, I argue that if I hadn’t come to University, I wouldn’t have continued to change my life plans until they were where they are at now.
But whichever conclusion I land on, the fact remains that whether I go for a graduate job or not, my main plan to life is to win the lottery.
And this isn’t me just saying I WANT to win the lottery like everyone else. I PLAN to win the lottery. In fact, most of my other life plans are based around it.
Way I figure it, winning the lottery is the best outcome from doing a degree in American Studies; after three or four years of studying a people who built their country around the ‘American Dream’ that encouraged them to pursue a life of freedom and opportunity, what better way to go on than pursuing that dream myself.
Just imagine that freedom and opportunity you could buy yourself with the £24 million jackpot that’s estimated for this Fridays Euromillion draw.
That’s definitely more money than anyone needs, and unlike some, I wouldn’t object to winning it.
But I digress.
If I won the lottery, I’d play it close to my chest, at least at first. What with my birthday coming up, I’d continue as if nothing had happened for the next two weeks, and get on with work.
On the days surrounding my birthday, I’d have a bit of a shopping binge; until this past year, I realised my clothing choices had grown rather dark and dull, and took to adding some colour to my wardrobe. That quest is still ongoing.
I’d chuck out all the old shoes I have, and buy different ones for each occasion. With these things, I could easily keep them hidden as well, perhaps only indulging my housemates with my secret millionaire status (and that would mainly be out of necessity).
With my wardrobe successfully updated and my housemates partially in the loop (I would play down how much money I’d actually won), I would go about covering our house costs, and pay off my overdraft, so we wouldn’t have to live with the horribly bleak existence that is life on a student budget. In all these cases, however, I would pay only enough to make things comfortable. I would go for what’s needed over what’s top-of-the-range.
I would get a tattoo, buy some dumbells (which reminds me, I need to cancel my gym membership back in Wales. Oh dear) and perhaps have my teeth whitened. I’ve never been particularly fond of my teeth. Just simple things, that alongside the colourful new clothes would make me feel better about myself.
And then then waiting game would begin. Warning my housemates that I had near exhausted my wealth with the various transactions I had conducted for both mine and their sakes, I would tone down on the spending, put money aside for various reasons, and begin planning a round-the-world trip whilst working towards graduation.
Graduation day would come and go, and I’d try not to go too large during the celebrations, so I could use whatever spare dosh I had saved after paying off my student loan to buy a gift for each of the friends who meant the most of me, and unfortunately were still wracked with debt. Dangerous really, because it could mean by the end of everything I would be hated by everyone I didn’t buy gifts for. “Fuck it, I’m rich!” is what I would declare, as I would start to wonder whether the decisions made with the money had been the right ones up until now. A question for another time.
With university, friends, and any other attachments shown what they meant to me, I would then wire money to my mother and her boyfriend, my sister, my dad and his kids, before getting on a plane to Europe.
Arriving in Amsterdam, I would do everything I wanted to do last time, but couldn’t on account of being stuck in a smokey haze wandering from coffee shop to coffee shop.
From there, I would perhaps head North, and explore Scandinavia, before heading East, into Russia. Not really sure what I’d do there. Swoon over gorgeous Russian women and get into trouble with the locals, no doubt.
From Russia, I would head deeper into Asia. Milling around China for as long as the Chinese would let me. I would walk the great wall, visit the major cities like Shanghai, Beijing and Hong Kong, and feast like a king. I would explore the Jiuzhaigou Natural Reserve and climb Yellow Mountain, amongst other things.
Other Asian countries would be a must too. With Thailand, Vietnam and Japan being quick stops before I headed for my final destination.
And then onto the big one. I would have returned to America, the long way round.
After a quick stop in Hawaii, I would spend a bit of time in California, before heading North to Oregon, detouring through Vegas, of course, spending time in Seattle and Portland.
Heading into Canada, I would judge for myself just how friendly Canadians really are. Having met a couple already, and having received invitations to stay from all of them, I feel like it would be a lovely time to recuperate.
Heading back down through the centre of the States, I would move between the smaller towns, where I would allow myself the chance to wear my Stetson on a regular basis, and assure myself that no one was judging me.
Next, I would head to New Orleans. Hopefully, Mardi Gras would not be too far away, but by now my funds would be considerably diminished, and so I wouldn’t complain whatever the situation.
“Dump ’em out!”
As a Brit, I really don’t see how yelling that at women works out well.
But whatever. ‘murica.
From there on, I would be on the last legs of my journey. I would head to the Big Apple, stopping in the nations capital, because it would be silly not too really. Once in NYC, I would spend the last of my funds; becoming homeless and living on the streets of New York.
Becoming a drug-riddled mess, I would eventually leave my new street-faring brethren and barter passage to Iceland, where I would hope to catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights before the debt, enemies and mistreatment of my body caught up with me.
I would survive; a changed man. Begging my mother to pay for my trip back to Wales, I would wallow in a pit of despair as I found out that in my absence, my friends had grown hateful of me; their hatred stoked by those I forgot to buy gifts for.
Desperate, I would pray to the Dude, Thor and Santa for a way to make things right, and in their divine wisdom, they would allow me to win the lottery again. I mean, if I can do it once, why not twice, right?
Imagine reading my autobiography after that. It would be amazing.
Other side purchases would include a new phone after I inevitably break this one, and dance classes, so I would have slick moves to match my wardrobe.