Playing to Lose

Last night, seeking an after-dinner activity that didn't involve arguing, our visiting son suggested a game of Monopoly. After hunting around in several closets, the game was located under a stack of jigsaw puzzles. Although  rusty, we got the hang of it pretty soon: toss the dice, move around the board, pass GO, etc. It wasn't long before all of society's ills showed up on the game board.

Doomed from the get-go, I chose the lowly iron as my game piece, laughingly saying that it was fitting since, "I'm basically a cleaning lady around here." (Ha ha.) My husband chose the mid-life crisis convertible race car, and my son went with the noisy locomotive. And so we began, each with $1,500 of play money.

On my very first move I threw a five and landed on Income Tax, so right away I was down $150. Mitch and Zack took their turns and each had the opportunity to buy something. They did. On my next turn I landed on Chance and was ordered to "Go directly to jail. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200." While I rotted in my cell, the others zipped around purchasing more properties. When I was finally sprung, after trying and failing to throw doubles and then paying the $50 bail, I promptly landed on one of Zack's railroads and had to fork over a hundred bucks. Mitch landed on Community Chest and learned he had won $50 in a beauty contest. Zack bought the rest of the railroads. I paid medical bills. At every turn I was squashed like a bug, and spent most of the game in jail or in hock. Eventually Mitch, busy building housing developments on several of his high-end lots as I mortgaged my few pathetic slums to pay luxury taxes and utility bills, not to mention being on a first-name basis with the prison warden, dropped a hundred dollar bill under the dining room table on purpose, trying to help me feed my family. This made me feel even worse; I didn't want a handout, I wanted a decent chance--or at least a decent Chance.

Nearing midnight, Zack was rolling in "old railroad money," Mitch owned the Boardwalk and Park Place as well as more than half the board, and I was down to fives and tens and a wad of singles. Naturally, we couldn't help but notice that some people have all the luck while others have none. Then again, I was nice enough to alert Mitch that rent was due him when he didn't notice-- let's face it, the poor guy has ADD--but somebody, and I am not mentioning any names, stiffed his mother on a paltry $18.00 one time when I was distracted. Obviously, respect-wise, I was the Rodney Dangerfield of the game. Mitch says my fatal error was hoping that things would change while doing nothing to bring change about. I say choosing the iron was my first mistake; if you aim low, you'll end up in the gutter.