OOPS!

OOPS! And that’s the longest, largest, blackest and most painful Oops in the English language. What a shame that Grandpa is no longer here to look at it and laugh at me. He would never say ‘I told you so’, but I would read it in his eyes.

It was back in 1956 that I made the monstrous error. That’s 64 years ago, most of which I have regretted. On that day, I had been lying on the couch reading a magazine when in walked Grandpa. He held the mortgage on our house so he never knocked to enter.

You should know that Grandpa is currently the richest man in the world. Far, far richer than Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos or Mark Zuckerberg.

Grandpa keeps his wealth secret. No one knows about him or his riches. He gives away huge amounts to charities but all donations are anonymous. He never talks to the newspapers or the TV. He is never interviewed. Socially he is obsessively unsociable. Drives a 15 year old battered looking car and he is often seen unshaven in rumpled clothes.

I made this ghastly error some time after Grandpa walked in, carrying a heavy looking briefcase; it went like this:

“I heard you recently qualified as an architect. I am here to offer you a position in the family business. As you know, the company was founded five generations ago by our forefathers. It has remained in business through wars, weather, depressions and booms, always run by a member of the family. I am here to tell you that I have selected you to be a future chairman of the company. I’ve brought with me the history of Proudfoot’s, the world’s leading insurance company to present to you.”

I sat in silence, not wanting to insult the old man.

“The company was founded in 1850 by Elias Proudfoot. He was followed by Elias II, then Elias III, and then Elias IV. I am Elias V and you are destined to be Elias VI. Let’s take a brief look at Proudfoot’s proud history,” he said as he took the huge leather-covered volume out of his briefcase. He laid it on the coffee table and opened it so we could both see the pages. He flipped through the chapters, stopping whenever a piece of text or a photograph caught his eye. Then he would point at the item and read a short piece to me, intending to fire up my imagination with a heroic or frightening incident.

“If you can think of a major disaster committed in the past 170 years you will find the Proudfoot name somewhere in the report. Think about the Titanic, the Hindenburg, the Andrea Doria, the Bopul disaster and many, many more. We have shelled out billions in compensation on behalf of clients and we have also proven billions of fake claims. We have a staff of hundreds. Agents, inspectors, assessors, investigators, mathematicians, forecasters, actuaries and others. Our monthly salaries bill runs to 3 or 4 million dollars. We are one of the world’s great companies.

If you join us now you will start at the very bottom and work your way through every department until you are at the very top – chairman. Elias VI.”

There was a long silence.

“Well, my boy, what do you say?”

Another long silence followed.

“You are not thinking about turning me down are you?” asked Grandpa.

“That’s exactly what I am thinking,” I replied. “I received my first architectural appointment this morning as matter of fact. A huge house for one of the heirs in the Eddington family. I can’t wait to get started.”

“You would prefer to be an architect than a major figure in the family business?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Thank you Grandpa for your offer and your presentation, but I am not interested in joining the family business.”

He looked at me as though I had some awful disease, closed the family history volume and put it back in his brief case. He looked at me, nodded and headed for the front door.

On Monday morning I rented a small studio with attached office and moved my drawing board, a chair and a desk and other pieces of equipment in and set the place up. I ordered a small slate with my name from a signwriter and screwed it on the wall next to the door. On Tuesday I started sketching the mansion I was going to design. A few weeks later I called the client in to look and my sketches before I started on the working drawings. He hummed and hawed, consulted with his wife and three of his children, asked for a few changes and finally approved my first sketches and told me to go ahead. He also left a check for what I had done so far.

I was elated. I started the drawings, working as fast as I could. On the third day a strange thought pushed its way into my mind as I was working on the front elevation of the house. I dropped my pencil and went to my desk where the phone sat. I lifted the receiver to see if there was dial tone. Why hasn’t the phone rang since I plugged it in? The dial tone was loud and healthy. So what was wrong? Why am I not getting calls from prospective clients? I got up and moved the phone nearer to my drawing board, to make sure I didn’t miss any calls.

Happiness level: 100 minus lack of clients.

I finished the drawings and a contractor started construction of my very first creation. I had mixed feelings. The other half of the mix was the lack of phone calls. I made a tour of friends, relatives, even strangers. Someone must need or want a new house, factory, office block, investment project. Something…

The fees I earned on the house dribbled away and finally ended. The bank shook their heads at my lack of collateral. I moved the drawing board and desk back to my apartment. I studied the ads in the papers looking for the words ‘Architect wanted’. Then ‘Draftsman wanted’. Then ‘Architectural Lecturer wanted’.   

Nothing, but nothing, came my way. I quit using my car. One morning waiting for a bus I picked up a newspaper someone had discarded and left open at the stock exchange page. I glanced at it and my eye caught a smallish headline:  “Proudfoot’s new chairman”. The prize had gone to a cousin of mine. Peter Proudfoot. I felt sick. I knew him. An idiot. Half a million a year? Easy… 

These days I’m still unemployed. Replaced my car with a shopping trolley. Sold the drawing board and desk for bags of peanuts. No phone. On the plus side: No worries. No clients. No rental. Clothes? From the big bin outside the church on Maple Street. Working hours? None. Meals? In the alley behind restaurant row and I can almost choose my menu. Sleeping? Any place will do.

Happiness level. 100 minus Oops.