Monday, November 28, 2005

What's the Point?

     I was "back home" in South Florida all last week for the Thanksgiving holiday. If there's one thing South Florida has a lot of, it's old people. Between the downed trees and powerlines, the oppressive heat and humidity, and triptophan sleepiness, there were lots and lots of old people. Most of them seemed to be driving on the roads and highways at 5 miles per hour. (If you're on the metric system, that's equal to "slow as crap")
     My grandmothers are old people, too, but I'm rather fond of them, so I won't make fun of their driving. My grandmother's boyfriend, however, is another story. She met him in the Independent Living community she lives. At 90 years old, I applaud her for being social. On the other hand, he's an annoying old man and when I visit, I wish I could spend time with my grandmother alone. That's just me being selfish.
     But about his stories. I was in the car with him going to Thanksgiving dinner and he talked non-stop for an hour. It was all about his son and how rich his son was and about how he gambled in every casino in Vegas and how the guy at Caesar's knew him and comped him for everything. He even pulled out his wallet to show me card from every major casino. They were the elevator keys for the "club floor", whatever that is. I was in the car with him going to Thanksgiving dinner and he did not stop talking once during the hour-long car ride. Thankfully (it was Thankgsiving), he was talking to my grandmother, not me, but I had a hard time shutting him out. Most of it was bullshit, pointing to a building and making something up about it. "See that building? Blah blah blah blah."
     But when he's talking to me (or my sister, or my parents, or the other people in the independent living center), he tells us how rich his son is, about the nightclub his son used to own in Atlanta until the schvartzes made the place undesirable, about how he himself gambled at every casino in Vegas and how the guy at Caesar's knew him and comped him for everything, about his elevator key card for the "club floors" which he still keeps in his wallet "just in case", about how Steve Wynn begged him to come gamble in his new casino. Most of his stories revolved around what an awesome gambler he was. Now the man's a few short steps from the grave, he's living alone in a retirement home, his son hasn't spoken to him in 10 years. What was the point? So he could brag to his 90-year old girlfriend's grandson?
     There are a lot of things I'd like to do in this life. I want to travel the world, buy a yacht, own a mansion or two, invent a better mousetrap, run a company, be a famous columnist ... Being a big macher at Vegas casinos would be pretty cool. But if that's the biggest accomplishment of my life, shut me up. And if I have nobody to share those stories with except random people in the retirement home cafeteria, shoot me. Because I'll have completely wasted my life anyway.
     I've been fortunate in my life so far to be spared from a lot of death. I've known a few people who have died, but baruch hashem they've all been old and lived full lives. But I would think that assuming you have an unlimited amount of time is stupid. If you were to die at 30 or 40 or 50, what would you leave behind. It doesn't matter whether or not you believe in an afterlife. What did you leave here? When you're gone, will anyone ever remember you were here in the first place?
     So imagine you A) have no children, B) do nothing during your life that could not have been done by someone else, and C) make no impact before or in the act of your death (like donating the contents of your will to your alma mater). Were you ever really here? And if your answer is yes, then why? Why did you take up my oxygen? Why did you put garbage in my landfills? Why did you waste the valuable real estate it took to bury you?
     And forgetting death, once you no longer have the ability to work enough to fund your casino trips, or maybe once your knees have gone enough to keep you from hiking in Europe, or maybe once your heart has gotten bad enough that you can't travel, what then? For your own sake, do you want your last 10 or 20 years spent bragging about what an awesome person you were when you were young? Now that's a depressing thought.

6 comments:

Sylvana said...

Funny! I often think of these things myself. I would hate to have lived that long and have nothing really important to show for it. If I had the money that guy apparently had, I could have found much better things to do with it!

Ben said...

One of the main reasons I decided to go to grad school was because of a guy I worked with at a mortgage company. He's 37, single, no GF, has a roommate, plays video games, likes to go play bar trivia with friends, and his life is going nowhere and doing nothing.

Lower the age a good bit, and the description fits for me. I don't want to still be there when I'm his age.

Alisa said...

As long as I positively affect my nephew throughout his childhood, I will know that I have done something with my life. (If I should ever grow up and have children of my own... same goes).

I'm going to be the "Maxine" of the nursing home fifty years down the road.

I think that there was something very good about you that made Mr. Boyfriend a bit territorial, thus causing him to talk non-stop about his son.

Otto Man said...

Why did you take up my oxygen? Why did you put garbage in my landfills? Why did you waste the valuable real estate it took to bury you?

That's so sweet. You should write birthday cards for Hallmark.

ORF said...

Wow, you REALLY don't like this guy, do you, Scott? Your reaction seems a little harsh to me, but I can appreciate the idea that gambling one's life away in the casinos is not really something to be all that commended for. Maybe this old guy talks about it so much because it actually makes him upset, and he's just trying to get reassurance and approval from other people that what his son does is a good thing since he's not so sure about it himself.

As for people getting old and losing the ability to do a whole heckuve a lot, I think most old people HATE that. I know my 90-year-old grandmother does. Because, as she's told me, it's more or less like you're just waiting to die and there's not a whole lot to do to help you pass the time. I think a LOT of old people suffer from pretty severe depression in this country because they live so long and their families sort of forget about them and they lose the ability to do much. Your grandma's boyf is the perfect example. I do find that to e terribly terribly sad.

Scott said...

I guess I didn't write this very clearly. The gambling stories weren't about the son, they were about my grandmother's boyfriend. I should have said:
"I was in the car with him going to Thanksgiving dinner and he did not stop talking once during the hour-long car ride. Thankfully (it was Thankgsiving), he was talking to my grandmother, not me, but I had a hard time shutting him out. Most of it was bullshit, pointing to a building and making something up about it. "See that building? Blah blah blah blah."
But when he's talking to me (or my sister, or my parents, or the other people in the independent living center), he tells us how rich his son is, about the nightclub his son used to own in Atlanta until the schvartzes made the place undesirable, about how he himself gambled at every casino in Vegas and how the guy at Caesar's knew him and comped him for everything, about his elevator key card for the "club floors" which he still keeps in his wallet "just in case", about how Steve Wynn begged him to come gamble in his new casino. Most of his stories revolved around what an awesome gambler he was.