There’s been a rash of lottery jackpots worth nearly a billion dollars lately. Billion with a “B,” the kind of money usually reserved for oil barons, tech moguls, and that one neighbor who somehow “retired at 32” even though you’ve never seen him work a day in his life.
Given these jackpots, people love to ask that old, hypothetical question: “What would you do if you won?” And every time, someone says something sensible like “I’d pay off my mortgage,” and someone else says something terrifying like “I’d buy a tiger.” But me? I know exactly what I’d do first.
I’d hire someone — full-time, well-paid, and hopefully with a strong stomach — to do my laundry.
Because I hate laundry. Always have. If the devil himself ever opened a laundromat, I would not be surprised. Nothing in this life feels more futile. You fold clothes, you wear clothes, they get dirty, and then you’re right back where you started, staring into the warm, damp mouth of a dryer that has eaten exactly one sock from every pair you’ve ever owned.
But a billion dollars? Now that’s enough to solve the sock-eating dryer problem. Not with better appliances, mind you. With staff. Teams of staff. A whole department. A director of laundry services with a corner office and a pension.
People say money can’t buy happiness, but I am confident it can buy someone else to handle your underdrawers, and that is its own kind of joy.
Of course, once the laundry chore was off my plate — and maybe a few thousand shirts neatly back on it — I’d have decisions to make. Serious ones. Billion-dollar decisions.
Should I travel the world or just buy a small portion of it? Should I invest in something smart and stable, or follow my heart and sink 200 million into reopening that Pizza Hut buffet from my childhood? Should I donate to worthy causes, like education, medical research, and the restoration of every Waffle House sign that’s ever been knocked sideways by a storm?
And then there’s the question of family. A billion dollars brings out relatives you didn’t even know you had. People will show up from branches of your family tree you thought were pruning accidents. Folks who haven’t sent you a Christmas card since 1978 will suddenly remember your birthday down to the hour.
It’s a lot of pressure, being newly minted royalty.
So maybe the real question isn’t what to do with a billion dollars, but how to stay yourself while having it. And I think the trick is this: Do the things that make your life feel lighter.
If that’s paying off bills, wonderful. If it’s starting a business, excellent. If it’s laundry — God bless you, we’re in the same boat — go hire the best laundry person on Earth and give them medical benefits.
Because the truth is, we don’t really want a billion dollars. We want freedom from the stuff that drags us down. We want clean clothes without the chore, peace without the fuss, and enough cushion in the bank that when the dryer eats another sock, it isn’t the end of the world.
And if that isn’t worth a lottery ticket, I don’t know what is.
My View From the cheap seats 