Ramble about Life being a Gamble

Dead silence falls over the audience as we wait on Mr Fortuner’s next move…

He has just been asked by the host of Road to Riches what he would place on the table in exchange for what’s behind door number ten

In this reality show you can bet anything from your money to your car and even your wife. For those extremists, your very own life can also be considered in this gamble. However, the bigger the gamble, the higher the stakes. So in round 13, nothing short of your life would suffice.

The doors have the ability to bless you with a treat or curse you with a trick. If you are lucky and you win a treat, you also gain what you’ve placed on the table. So you end up walking away with your wife (the bet) and a new house (the treat). But if you are unlucky and you were tricked, you might walk away with no wife (the bet) and no house (the trick).

Needless to say, this show is both highly suspenseful and entertaining. So here we are, glued to our seats. Barely breathing. And then Mr Fortuner writes his next gamble on the card…

No.

It can’t be.

That’s my name he wrote on the card!

He is gambling my life for whatever is behind door number 10!

Surely he can’t do that!

“Excuse me!”, I scream from the bleacher. “I don’t even know that man! He can’t gamble MY LIFE! There has to be some mistake.”

The host calmly rises up from his chair.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces.”it would seem that Mr Fortuner has bet the life of a person sitting here in our very audience! Never in the 5 years of Road to Riches have I ever encountered such despicable behaviour! This is, to say the least, completely…”

I sigh a breath of relief. Thankfully there is some humane factor to this otherwise brutal game.

“…and utterly,” he continues, “brilliant!

WHAT?!

“Ladies and gentlemen, of course this show is completely reliable on pleasing the audience. So what do you think? All those in favour of gambling an innocent life, say “let the games begin!”

Like a roar of thunder the voices around me lift up in unison: “Let the games begin.”

I feel sick.

Little beads of sweat start to gather at the back of my neck.

“Fantastic!”, the host exclaims. “Without further ado, let’s see what is behind door number 10.”

For a moment. Time. Stands. Still.

Door number 10 slowly reveals what it has been hiding.

The audience gasps.

The blood drains from my face.

The host sneers.

“Well, well Mr Fortuner. Seems like  you have opened a tricked door – you lose your car! Oh dear, bad luck hey? 

It’s the end of the road for you Mr Fortuner . And it’s also the end of the road for our very unlucky person in the audience…”


Mr Fortuner,

Yesterday as we were driving on the N17, there was a moment where you gambled with my life.

I know that it must have been completely infuriating driving 122km/h (according to my GPS) behind me on the highway. And especially as we were driving towards a bridge with a double white line next to us, clearly indicating that a normal person’s view ahead is very limited.

But you decided that it was time to take a chance. Take a leap of faith and pass me. To throw caution to the wind and hope that there will not be oncoming traffic. Yes, hope. For there is no way that you could have seen any better than me. Unless of course you are Superman. In which case I would like to have your number.

As you attempted to pass me (in your mind you were probably “zipping” past me at 125km/h), I see two headlights blinking over the not so far horizon. In a desperate attempt, I tried to Morse Code to you with my eyes to get back behind me (seeing as your nose was at my back door). But alas, you don’t listen and you speed up to 126km/h. The headlights in front are now flashing to you to get back in line. Still you push on.

The last couple of seconds felt like a synchronized dance between me and the other car as we both try to accommodate you and your idiotic moment. I slow down to an almost crawling pace. The other car moves onto the side of the road. And off you go (finally) passing me.

First of all, you are welcome.

Second of all, next time you feel like gambling. Don’t gamble my life. In fact, don’t gamble any life. Rather be late than be the late.

And lastly, learn Morse Code…

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