An observer of this world who reads, writes and occasionally does arithmetic
The email said, I stand to inherit 22 million dollars and all I had to do was pretend to be a relative of some guy named UWE Gemballa. Hell, for that kind of money I would be a Hell’s Angels sister. My mind started racing, envisioning the life I could have with that kind of dinero in my bank account. I could get rid of the two-toned Gremlin, move out of this roach infested trailer and even buy clothes from Rodeo Drive.
Oh good grief, does this mean I have to get an accountant, how about a personal stylist? I see a whole entourage of people and me, the star of this show. Look out Richard Branson, I’m about to clip your wings.
All I had to do was respond back to this email and BAM, I’m in the money. I made a sign of the cross, clicked reply and got nothing. I looked at my computer in disbelief; I had the blue screen of death. Nooooooo, how could this be happening to me? I am this close to having millions without having to do a bit of work and I get a dead computer.
I wonder if I text the banker dude from that remote village in Africa will that count as my acceptance? I send a quick text and it bounces back as undelivered. Oh why are the God’s cursing me this way.
Guess this means I have to keep my job selling taquitos on the overpass of I-10.
I was this close I tell you, this damn close.
**This post was written for the Daily Prompt, Race the Clock (write a piece in 10, not 12 but 10 minutes)