It’s a recurring dream: Agonizing over whether I’d outlive the money I have in the bank … and what that means in deciding when to retire.
In them, I scheme on ways to resolve the anxiety by getting rich fast. On this night, I take mobility for a spin.
The world was so ready for this product. After all, if they can motorize bicycles, scooters, and skateboards, why not walkers? They’re used every day by an estimated 70 million adults worldwide. And the market isn’t getting any younger.
The E-Limberator was a thing of beauty: Fast, sleek, feature-filled and functional.
With the prototype built, it was ready for an inaugural spin. So I took it to Fifth Avenue in NYC to see how wealthy seniors would like it.
I approached the first person I spotted with a walker: “M’am, I’m the inventor of this, the E-Limberator,” I said. “It’s a powered walker. Will make strolling a street like this effortless. Want to give it a try?”
“You a con man?” she asked. “My son told me to look out for creeps like you.”
I assured her I am not. Showed her pictures of my kids. “Do these look like the children of a fraud and cheat?”
Moments later, this 92-year-old woman named Sylvia was behind the handles of my invention. And while I told her to ramp up to top speeds slowly, she went right for the max.
That’s when her 110-pound frame went airborne, as she held on for dear life and let out a barely audible “oooooo.” The E-Limberator bulleted her down the block and into an unwitting DoorDash guy engrossed in his phone, who hit the ground hard but was buffered by his hot bag, sending an order of General Tso’s chicken into a splat attack.
After coming to an abrupt stop, she remarked, “I haven’t had this much fun since Lawrence Welk went off the air.” And then, after a bit of thought, “but it doesn’t seem that safe.”
As I was being arrested for endangering public safety and stereotyping the elderly, I had to agree. This wasn’t the answer to my retirement dilemma after all. That’s when I woke up in a cold sweat.
But as is often the case when I’m dreaming this vividly, and despite trying to shut it down before falling back asleep, another episode kicked back in immediately.
There I was, on the set of my favorite TV show, Shark Tank, standing on the carpet making my pitch, which went something like this:
Hi Sharks! I’m seeking $500,000 for a 10% stake in my ground-breaking drug combo, Cheezewhizzi.
I call it the world’s first pharmafoodical.
Pats … Geno’s … Angelo’s … John’s … Jim’s — if you love a Philly Cheesesteak, these are names you know all too well. Too too well. Because when you order them “wit Wiz” at places like these, or make it in your own home, the dopamine in your body floods your brain like the soak cycle in your washing machine — making it impossible not to eat more than you reasonably should, and drowning any healthy lust with cheesy thoughts.
Well, not anymore. Yes Sharks, now you can have it all: a processed food protein enhancer, combined with generic cholesterol-lowering Lipitor, and libido-enhancing Viagra all in one cheesy chewable you put right into your sandwich. Takes the concept of a grinder to a whole new level.
So Sharks, who’s ready to bite into this $2 billion, dairy-free opportunity and taste what it’s like to be rich!
Then, of course, came the questions.
Kevin O’Leary: “$500,000 for a 10% stake implies a five million dollar valuation. So before I tell you to take your cheese and let it fester into the hideous ball of the mold that it is, tell me your sales.”
Barbara Corcoran: "You’re a marketing guy; what makes you think you can navigate pharmaceutical regulations? Don’t answer: You're too smooth. I don't trust guys who are that smooth. I’m out."
Lori Greiner: “This could work on QVC, I suppose, but I just don’t think there’s a big enough market for compulsive cheesestake consumers with high cholesterol and no libido. You’re too early to invest in. For those reasons, I’m out.
Daymond John: “You’re just trying to find something to get rich quick so you can stress less about retiring comfortably, aren’t you?”
Before I could hear the last “I’m out,” I awoke again. The dream was over. Despairing, I craved a cheesesteak.
A recent study from Allianz Life showed that 59% of Boomers fear outliving their money more than they fear death itself. And these aren’t just folks who technically haven't saved enough, of which there are many; they also include those who are doing just fine.
For me, the stress is rooted in watching both my parents outlive their money, by a lot. I saw firsthand how two unused health clubs are one too many; actually, two too many. How crippling it is to have few or no choices. How dreaming that everything will work out fine really isn’t a plan.
But the reality is, at this stage of life, you have what you have. Sure, you can still make more, but how much? Better to focus on making the most of what you’ve got.
That realization should have put the matter to rest. Instead, I fell asleep and invented something even worse.
On this night, I found myself in a true nightmare — sitting among more than 100 people my age or older, and every one of them was talking about their latest health issue. It was deafening.
“My coccyx bone is killing me! I think I need to have it removed.”
“You can’t remove a coccyx bone, you idiot; you’d be Jello. Which, by the way, is how I wish I felt right now; damn arthritis is in everything.”
“My blood pressure this morning was 200 over 120. Two hundred! Yesterday, 180 over 90. Day before that, 190 over 100. I should be dead! I blame it on the news.”
“The pain in my left shoulder, right quad, upper neck, left knee, right large toe, both nostrils, and scalp is unbearable. I have to do something about it.”
Realizing how common this never-ending moaning and groaning about health was, I dreamed up The Whine Collar from Medi-Zap. This was going to be my true get-rich-quick invention, allowing me to retire in no-worry-luxury.
Designed to resemble the electric fence collar you’d put on your dog, the Whine Collar sends a tiny but persuasive 2,000-volt static shock when its sensor detects any medically related conversation. Though the first zap is mild, it escalates as the health talk continues.
Suited for any parent, spouse, friend or talkative neighbor, the collar worked perfectly. So I tried it on myself. Bad idea.
The Whine Collar’s sensors decided that my whining about money and retirement uncertainty was worse than the health talk it was designed to detect. So much so, it produced a shock worthy of a Road Runner cartoon.
I awoke humbled once more. I wasn’t going to get rich quick. Very few do. And I no longer have time to waste trying.
Instead, I would channel Sylvia. Or, in the words of Lawrence Welk, commit to making what’s ahead “Wunnerful, wunnerful!”
Hopefully, that’ll zap those dark dreams.
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