Step 1: Get the money.
Step 2: Scream for about 6 hours straight.
Step 3: Finally get a cherry red Ferrari .
Step 4: Go to school.
Step 5: Run up and down the hallways flicking everyone off, screaming “FUCK YOU ALL” and laughing maniacally.
Step 6: Realize I’m too young to drop out of school.
Step 7: Swear profusely.
Step 8: Drag myself back to school and sit my sorry ass down until I graduate.
I would go to my living room, start laughing and fall on the floor.
Then I would roll around on my carpet and keep on laughing until my roommates came home.
Then, they would find me and reasonably conclude that I had gone mad. They would call the ambulance, and I’d be taken to the hospital, laughing all the while at the absurdity of life.
Then, at the hospital, they would conclude that I was a danger to myself and needed to be kept in the psych ward. And that is where I would spend the next several days.
Pay off my student loan and then buy a Big Mac with what’s left.
No, but seriously, that’s enough money that I don’t really care about money anymore. Sure I could invest it, start businesses, yadda yadda yadda, but I imagine rich people who obsess about money are no happier than poor people who have to obsess about money.
So I’d blow it. Spend several million on a big house and leaving enough aside for upkeep. Spend several million on flash cars, motorbikes, designer clothes, a helicopter, things like that. I’d take holidays to Vegas, Tokyo, Italy. I’d fly first class and eat at top end restaurants. I’d own all the latest tech. I’d collect high end rare antiques.
I literally cannot think of reasonable ways to spend that amount of money. I could make all of my family and friends millionaires and still have more money than I can conceive of spending. Would I run out of money? I’d bloody well try, you can’t spend it when you’re dead.
Image Credit: Breaking Bad / AMC
I will hire a, er, guy. A real trustworthy guy.
“Hello, yes, trustworthy man. I would like to do an investment please.”
He would ask me what I mean.
“Oh, um… I hear people invest a lot in shrubbery. Is that a wise financial move?”
He will inform me that this is called a hedge fund and even to write this theoretical situation I do not know what that is so presumably he will explain it to me.
“Ah, yes. Hedges. Very good.”
Somehow I will invest this money wisely—well, some of it. I will leave this up to the very trustworthy man. Investing is both boring and confusing—I have little interest in learning if I don’t have to.
And I’ll have the money to pay the very trustworthy man to do all the boring work. It’s perfect.
Then I will pay off my student debt.
Then I will make a scholarship and pay for other people’s student debt.
Then I will send my mom on a long vacation to the Caribbean.
Then I will buy a new computer.
Then I will get gas. Because at the moment, I cannot afford gas.
Indeed, I may get gas before hiring the very trustworthy man because I do not even have enough to drive to meet him. Perhaps that is the first order of business.
But then, trustworthy man.
Someone needs to tell me what the hell to do with all that money, because I will fuck it up.
It’s a foolproof plan.