Monotony

Ridin’ around in my automobile. Tryin’ not to fall asleep at the wheel. Round and round and round I go. Where I’ll land nobody knows.

Caught in a spin cycle. Spinning my wheels. Never any end in sight. Think I’m getting ahead then some guy on a steel horse passes me by. Heck, the rate I’m going even that construction guy pushing the wheelbarrow is catching up to me.

Endless, I’m tellin’ ya. Hopeless. I put in my paces, smile at the faceless faces hiding under haute hats all so I can chase that elusive money bag, pick up my salary and get on the move again. What chance do I have? Every step forward can lead to three steps back.

Even though I’m livin’ large on the Mediterranean don’t mean I got an ocean front view. As the crow flies I can maybe see the boardwalk but down here where the shoe leather hits the avenue there are a lot of twists and turns along the way.

It is bad enough I struggle to pay the rent but then I’m forced to pay utilities, too. Electric, water, whatever— it never ends. Don’t forget about the tax man. He is coming after me as sure as death stalks about. At least I don’t own enough to get hit with those extra luxury taxes someone is always trying to pin on a fellow.

Once in a while the community may try to help you out with unexpected dividends or prizes or something big like free bail money. Sure, sure, who’s perfect? I have landed in jail a few times. So I didn’t pay my speeding tickets, sue me. This fast car is everyone’s favorite. Got to show what it can do sometimes. I have a reputation to uphold, after all. But you can bet I’ll never win any beauty contests and my consulting fees are a mere pittance in the scope of this city’s living expenses.

Maneuvering around these corrugated city streets and avenues is stressful. No wonder I have doctor fees and hospital bills. I don’t even have kids yet have to pay school fees. Who is gonna be around to collect that mandatory life insurance policy when it matures?

There is on-going new construction everywhere one looks. Bright shiny hotels spring up overnight. Someone always has their hand out expecting me to help pay for their good fortune. And don’t get me started on the Slum Lords that extort exorbitant payments in their row after row, street after street of exclusively owned turf. Who wrote those rules? A good old player like me can’t even land in a safe haven anywhere near their neighborhoods.

There aren’t many shortcuts either. I’m from the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak, so if I try to take a short ride on one of the rails I usually have to pay twice the normal fair fare. Those greedy owners make all the rules. They’ve got their cannons out gunnin’ for ya, all right. Down on the Atlantic I’ve even seen a battleship! A battleship! This calls for all out war!

Right now I’m gonna slip into the shadows, find a parking place and pop into a friendly watering hole to have myself a bit of the good stuff, maybe just a thimbleful, and iron out some plans on how to escape this spin-cycle. It will take an enterprising winning strategy. I slide onto an empty stool next to a sad-sack, dog-faced patron nursing a short one and only to be polite ask, “So how’s the rat race going?”.

“It’s a dog eat dog world out there and this ol' Scotty is down t' his last buck. Best o' luck t' ye, Laddie.” He laps up the rest of his swill, pulls out a crumpled paper bill and slips it under his over-turned glass and proceeds to turn both his pockets inside out for emphasis. Then he slunked off his stool and out the door. I swear if he had a tail it would have been tucked between his legs.

That image fuels my resolve. Think, think now. Give it the old non-college educated how-to-get-‘er-done know-how and get ‘er done! It is not my first trip around this block so I should know what’s coming and take advantage of all avenues. Sure the unexpected will be turned over but there should be as many favorable aspects as there are unfavorable hazards. All I can do is be prepared to ride out the onslaught, build up my reserves and fight back. Oh, and keep from going bankrupt in the process, of course.

First I better count my blessings, er, assets. Besides my classic convertible what do I own? How much cash do I have in the bank? Any dividends coming my way? How many paydays do I have coming up? How much can I save? Any windfalls expected to befall me? Anyone owe me money? Do I have any building loans maturing? How much can I afford to buy and what will be the return on those investments and how fast? Can I qualify for building loans to put up some housing on my properties? What are the rules about trading or selling or creating an alliance with someone with more experience than I have? Whew! Guess I should have gone for that CPA license after all!

Boy, one can’t be timid to play this game! No one warned me it would be this cut-throat. It is like my life depends on it. Oh, wait. My life does depend on it. I will be ousted if I can’t make some gains. No one wants to be ousted. I may never get another chance at beating the odds. I have got to go for it. So buy, buy, buy. Borrow to the hilt and hope it makes all those other token people pay for the privilege of passing through my properties. Splurge on a couple of railroads. That pays pretty good. Take a chance or two. My birthday is soon, that aught to pay off. Maybe that inheritance will come through from Great-Uncle Richie.

It didn’t take me long to add the cold Baltic to my Mediterranean and my cash flow trickled in enough that when I was sent to Boardwalk by chance I purchased that, then a walk through the Park Place cornered that market so I was well on my way to hotel tycoon status. I got hold of the beautiful Marvin Gardens, Ventnor Avenue and even the Atlantic one and once improvements were accomplished there was no holding back. I could purchase the old B&O Railroad and three states, Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky Avenues.

Now the glint off that battleship sitting on the Atlantic holds no threat. I won this battle. Stopped the never-ending cycle. Now, anyone else wanna play?