PCH DREAM

The doorbell rang and my girlfriend groaned. Generally the doorbell ringing meant one of a few bad things: I left the window of her car open, I accidentally left the trunk of her car open, I accidentally pushed the button for the alarm on her car and a friendly neighbor wanted to let her know, some signature was needed for a package I’d ordered, etc. The doorbell rang again.  

“I’ll get it. Please let me get it,” I said.  

She rolled her eyes and held the older chihuahua who was barking like a burglar was about to enter.

Then, though, I saw two men in suits with blue jackets and gray ties, both with short brown hair and a woman with dirty blond hair in a flower dress. I recognized them and what they were all holding.

They were holding a five foot by eight foot green check with todays date on it, someone’s typed signature, and $5,000.00 written on the canvas. I must be dreaming. My boss at work, just yesterday, told me that the Publisher’s Clearance House was a scam and no one ever really wins these things. She said they’re just trying to sell you their crappy merchandise and make sure their advertisers get exposure. Needless to say tomorrow I’ll give my boss the customary two week notice. Now, finally I can do what I’ve been hoping to do for years. I’ll have to appeal legal guardianship or get another Neuro-psych evaluation. If I pass that, I’m free. I can go back to college in welding or helicopter flying or event coordinating. I can buy, own, or drive a car anywhere I want. I can move to my own home and practice my own religion without having to worry about legal guardians getting pissed and evicting me. I can finally be free. Free! I can meet a younger woman and, with money, earn her heart by buying her clothes, jewelry, etc.  I’ll take her out to places like the Melting Pot or Carrabba’s and get married and have children, a boy and a girl, just like normal people. I can have a wedding now. I’ll be allowed to get married. I’ll finally have all the rights the average American doesn’t even realize they take advantage of. I have to be careful in buying a house because the property tax could make me poor. Maybe I need to put the money in a high interest account and just live off the growing interest. I need an accountant, a lawyer, and a party planner. I can visit the family my family doesn’t approve of. I can be in charge of what I eat, where I live, who my friends are, I can take. whatever classes I want to take, and decide where I live. I am free. I first should call an attorney who specializes in disability appeals. Then I’ll call an accountant about the taxes and whether to invest in an IRA or Roth IRA. I’m free!! Like the blacks from slavery, I’m free. Free!

I’m on the friend of Ford list so I want to get a Ford Fusion, if they still sell those. Or maybe I should wait to buy a car until I move. Say goodbye to put downs all the time. I am officially my own boss. Me, my dog, my girlfriend, a little boy and a little girl in paradise. I am. free. See, there is a God and God has answered my prayers. The Publisher’s Clearance House is here. Here! They hand me papers to sign and, believe it or not, I know the one NOT to sign. Don’t sign the one giving them permission to use me in commercials or the “poor me” phone calls will start.  “Do you want to donate to . . . .” Hell, no. I spent six hours a day for two years entering the PCH, so I’ll invest in the 5013c’s of my choice. I’m free. Free! I’ll need to hire a young, sexy secretary to take care of any bullshit phone calls and take messages from the important ones. My sister called, please call her back.

Now, I can finally go skydiving, see the aurora borealis in Greenland, I can start my own hugathon. I will donate to get out of taxes. I’ll donate to my church, AMFAR, the organization I’m working for, and others, but certain others I won’t. I may be late in life, but it’s not too late.  

I do know there are certain things money cannot buy. Like the votes for my credentials but if I give donations, I’m pretty sure that will significantly help my cause.  

I might invest in Lifelock too to make sure nobody steals my identity and I will still have my bankruptcy on the record for a few years. But now I’m going to be a chick magnet. Everybodies going to love me now and respect me. I can get published, get married, perform on stage, everything I’ve always wanted now that I’ve won this contest. Life is good.

I can finally see Jerry Springer, live. I can go to a taping of Jeopardy and ask Alex the questions I’ve always wanted to ask him: Where did he learn to speak so clearly? Does he know International Phonetic Alphabet? Where did he learn to do accents? I can see New Years at Time Square! I can see Marci Gras in New Orleans. I can see, do, go, and be anything! Anything! All because I won this contest. How lucky and blessed I am. Thank you, God!!! Now, I won’t be threatened to participate in holidays I don’t believe in. I won’t have to go to celebrations I don’t want to. I can learn to surf on the Flowrider. I can do everything now that I’m rich and about to be free. Ahhh. 

After time, though, I discovered that there are things that money can’t buy and things that money actually took away from me. The secretary is sexy and cute but I know if I lost the money, she’d never have anything to do with me. Although I did give a significant donation to the church, they could still have the power, or chuspa, to vote no. Unless they’re prostitutes, I cannot pay someone to love me and when I meet women, I know they’re just looking at me as a solution to a financial problem or a solution to their fears. I don’t really know who my friends are anymore and my estranged girlfriend has taken the chihuahua and filed lawsuit for dog care funds. People are coming to my front porch and/or car that I bought to purposely injure themselves and sue me, but it is still better than where I was, under the complete control of others, right? Right. I’ll just build a giant barrier around my property. I’ll also need to invest in an alarm system so no one will steal all the things which the Publisher’s Clearance House has given me. I may get my own children, but gifts to them can’t force them to love me. Maybe I can adopt kids, the kids would appreciate that, right? I’m going to get a new computer too, so I can look up adoption agencies and get appreciative kids and natural kids. Finally, I will have the American dream. They’ll come home from school with their bullet-proof backpacks . . . I can’t control if they’ll get hurt in school. No, this was the perfect wish, the perfect prayer. This is what I always wanted . . . Popularity, money, improv, publication, marriage, kids, Chicago, ordination, but what will I do after I get those things? Will I be a stalemate again, without purpose? I can pay for fancy food, massages, but after the tips, nobody will care, will they? Maybe if I produced my own TV show then everyone would know me, I’d be the star of the show, or maybe I’d just get bad reviews. What if this wasn’t the fix all end all I’d prayed for? What if this was just the beginning of my problems and the thing I need to pray to fix instead of the answer to all of my prayers? There’s the PCH with the check again and again. Maybe this wasn’t what I thought it would be. But maybe it was.