The Data Port

Winning The Lottery

It’s a game we all play: What would you do if you won the lottery? Won big, won so big that you could frame your life any way you chose?

Except in the  way I am about to tell you I don’t believe my life would change too significantly…or say, rather, that I would not initiate great changes. I like my home and think I would keep living in it. I enjoy household chores, fixing things, and working on the bikes. Oh, I might hire the occasional handyman or housecleaner, but apart from that I can imagine my life grinding on pretty much as it does now.

I might buy another motorcycle, but we have two already and motorcycles can only be enjoyed one at a time.

Whenever the what-would-you-do-if-you-won-the-lottery question is asked I think of my father’s friend Harvey Hayes. When my father was a young actor Harvey was an old one. He lived in a bed-sitter in Chicago’s South Shore Country Club. My father took me to visit Mr. Hayes once (I sat quietly while they rehearsed a scene together) and I can remember being fascinated by the fact that he didn’t have a kitchen.

He had a sort of pantry with a small sink and a fridge, but he clearly never cooked. I asked him what he did for meals…his situation was now riveting…and he replied, “Well, young Arthur, I go to restaurants. I’m an actor, not a cook.”

That answer had a more profound effect on me than I suspected at the time.

If I won the lottery I would never cook again. I simply loathe cooking. I know it’s supposed to be creative and satisfying and all that, but I simply hate it. I dislike having to prepare a dinner for guests and getting all the courses to come out at the right time. I hate scrubbing up afterwards.

I would much rather treat my guests to a nice meal at an excellent restaurant. I could afford it if I had won the lottery.

Oh, I might have a small pantry kitchen like Mr. Hayes, where I could keep some bread and peanut butter or a box of orange juice… something I could eat at the sink when I got peckish… but for the most part I would eat all my meals out.

At my favorite places I would be well known. As a regular I could ask for special service…”I’m not very hungry tonight, do you suppose the chef could do a plate of sliced tomatoes and romaine, with some nicely buttered sourdough toast?” Well of course…because I was a regular who had won the lottery and always tipped well.

And I would never cook again.