Nice newspaper columnists finish last

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 03/03/2018 (3059 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s not like I’m one of those monsters that derives joy from the misfortunes of others.

I’m not, although now that I think about it, like most guys of my particular gender, above snickering whenever someone emails me a video of another guy being walloped in his medically sensitive area by a stray golf ball or hockey puck.

The confession I’m making today is — as I grow older and morph into one of those crotchety guys sitting on his porch in a rocking chair with a shotgun on his lap and scowling at neighbourhood children — I find it harder and harder to take joy in the good fortune of others.

This became obvious the other morning as I lay in the bathtub reading the newspaper and stumbled on a story on page A11 that appeared under this upbeat headline: “Oil refinery workers revel in huge lottery win.”

The story described how delighted 31 blue-collar workers in Newfoundland and Labrador were after winning $60 million on Lotto Max, the biggest-ever jackpot in Atlantic Canada.

Here’s what one of the workers gushed: “I had a $60-million ticket in my hand and I was afraid to lay it down… I had to contact everyone because there’s 31 in our group… They would say silly things like, ‘Are you drinking?’ I told them all the same story — ‘We’re millionaires! This is not a joke. We are millionaires!’”

As I lay in the tub, I was overcome with feelings of joy for these (bad word) lucky Atlantic Canadians, who can now afford to do whatever they (bad word) want with the rest of their lives.

Ha ha ha. I am, of course, lying. For those of you who have not been paying attention, the point is that I am struggling these days to feel all warm and fuzzy when something good happens to someone who, technically speaking, isn’t me.

I don’t remember my specific thoughts at that moment, but they were something like: “Why do I never win $60 million? I buy enough (bad word) lottery tickets to cover the Earth at least 20 metres deep. I will never be able to afford to fill my garage with exotic foreign automobiles. Sniff.”

Speaking of exotic foreign automobiles and not being able to take joy in the good fortunes of others, I became equally despondent earlier this week when I received an overly excited press release from something called MAG Lifestyle Development, which is the real estate arm of the MAG Group, which is a multinational conglomerate based in Dubai, which is where people with way more money than you and I live.

This breathless press release wanted to ensure that I knew the nice folks at MAG Lifestyle Development (formerly MAG Property Development, for anyone keeping track) had just unveiled the world’s largest fleet of Rolls-Royce Ghost cars, which, from what I read on the internet, have a base price of about $250,000.

According to the release, the development firm has increased the number of Rolls-Royce Ghosts it owns from 12 to 30, and its plan is to make the ultra-luxury cars available to the poor folks forced to live in “17 exceptional waterfront mansions” at the MAG Creek Wellbeing Resort in Dubai, the first wellness-inspired real estate development in the region and the largest of its kind in the world.

“The new fleet reflects MAG’s promise to go beyond bricks and mortar by offering its customers an entirely new way of living at its luxury developments,” the release said.

Chimed in CEO Talal Moafaq Al Gaddah: “MAG’s developments provide a suitably stunning backdrop for the Rolls-Royce Ghost, which is internationally venerated for its elegance, exclusivity and luxury. The vehicles are perfectly at home in our polished environments and we look forward to offering our customers the chance to travel in ultimate style as part of their MAG lifestyle.”

OK, I personally do not live the “MAG lifestyle,” and I am not normally a jealous and angry individual (and anyone who says otherwise is a cheapskate and a liar), but I am having a hard time feeling joyful about the fact that tycoons in Dubai no longer have to worry about taking public transportation to their waterfront mansions.

It’s not that I am jealous. I have never dreamed of owning a Rolls-Royce Ghost, because I am not some sort of pretentious snot who measures people by their possessions. No, I always dreamed of owning a Jaguar XK-E (a red one), which seems like a pretty reasonable aspiration.

I am also not bitter over the fact that, despite being a big-shot journalist, for way too many years I was forced to drive (prepare to laugh a cruel little laugh) a K-car. Yes, a “nice Reliant automobile.” This car contained standard features such as bench seats and a glove compartment. It was built for people who think the Dodge Dart is just way too sexy.

The one thing this aging K-car always did, even in the depths of a soul-destroying winter, was start, so I would drive it to the Free Press when I was working the night shift.

One night after work, I walked out to the parking lot and… GASP!… the K-car was gone. Yes, someone had stolen a car that, by conservative estimate, was worth roughly $11.98. I staggered back to the newsroom and called the police.

Me: “Hello, I’m the night editor at the Free Press and someone stole my car.”

Officer: “What kind of car is it, sir?”

Me: “Well, um, it’s a 1986 K-car!”

Officer: “Ha ha ha! You’re an editor at the Free Press and you’re driving a K-car?”

Me (sighing): “Sadly, yes.”

Things just went downhill from there, because the very next day (Curses!), the decrepit car was returned. It turns out a towing company was picking up a colleague’s car and they took mine by mistake.

It felt like getting whacked you know where by a wayward golf ball, which, when it happens to someone else, normally makes me smile.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca