Genie-ous!!

I'm often confronted with the notion that I am a bit eccentric, you know the type. My hands flail in all directions when telling a story. I rarely take a breath between sentences, when engaged in juicy gossip. I often find myself overthinking the tiniest of situations. A small lie must be thought of as a short story, all the pieces must be worked out. This lie can't be exposed, therefore my mind shifts into overdrive. The same can be said for the craziest of conversations, of which I often confront on a daily basis.

I was asked by a friend, some time ago, the question we all love. 

"You get to have one wish from a Genie, what would it be?"

Well, an abundance of counter questions begin to fly around my head, which only lead to more questions branching off in all directions. Firstly, where did the Genie come from, a lamp? If so, where did I acquire said lamp? I doubt I would find it in a cheap flee market in England. Maybe in a small town market in the Arabian Peninsula, now that seems more like it. But the problem with that is how did I get there, on holiday? How could I afford that? I doubt that I could find a family holiday to Jordan on my very tight budget. 

Once again more questions arose like - why was the market vendor selling this magical lamp? He must have known of its magical properties. A gentle rub would have released the Genie and he would have his wish, and I highly doubt being an antique dealer in a small, possibly secluded, town was his. Maybe he had his wish and it back-fired, then the Genie fled back to his lamp and couldn't be released from it via the market trader ever again. But that still leaves the question of how could I afford it? This magic lamp would surely fetch a great deal of money, none of which I could afford in my life time. I don't believe that he would have a sign saying "Magic lamp only 5 dinars." No one would believe him, thus no one would buy it.

Then my friend rolled his eyes, turned to me and said... 

"I found it, used my wish, now it’s your turn. What is your wish?"

Well, that brought up at least ten more questions, but I decided to move on.

So now I have the lamp and released the magical entity that once laid refuge inside, the rules started to flow. You know the ones.

• No wishing for more wishes in any form (I'm guessing someone once asked for a robot that grants wishes.)

• No resurrecting the dead.

• No messing with free will. 

There was only one thing to do now - the wish. What to wish for? I only get one, it has to be worth it. Now, we all know the obvious one is 'Riches'. So let’s say I wished to be a billionaire, my experience with Genies - or rather my knowledge based off of countless tv shows, films, and books - leads me to believe that he, or she - I can only surmise that the Genie community has an equal rights policy and won't discriminate against age, gender, disability, or race. Anyway I’m getting off topic here. I believe the Genie will be a bit tricky with wishes; they like to mess with you, so I’ve heard. So back to the wish, I want to be a billionaire, which leads me to think two things...

• Am I going be rich?

• Am I going to be turned into someone who is rich?

I know what you are thinking... 

"What's the difference?" 

The difference is: If I turn into someone who is rich, I become someone else, like Sir Richard Branson. Not that being the Bransonator would be a bad thing, just it creates more branched thoughts.

• I take over his life, everything including his family and business. But I have no knowledge of his business ventures, or his ethics, or anything to do with his personality. I am essentially me in his body, taking over his life. He no longer exists, I am him. Now that is a daunting prospect.

• I have his life and everything, including his personality and morals, but I basically cease to exist; I’m like an idea in the head of The Bransonator, more like a niggle, an itch. Nothing he can do about it, but I can’t do anything either, just observing the everyday life of The Bransonator. I would no longer be who I am.

• I turn into him, but have nothing of his; I just look like him. I still live where I live and have £13 in the bank to last me until pay-day.

So, no thank you! I have to rethink my 'riches' wish. Let’s ask for money. 

“I Wish for a Billion Pound.” 

We all know where this is going; I’m going to get screwed here. The money will appear in my living room rendering me unable to move as it will all be in notes... or worse - coins. I can’t have that. How will I get it to the bank? I can’t do it all in one transaction, the bank will get suspicious, most likely call the police. Even putting a thousand pound in each month will take five, seven, twelve, sixteen, erm!! Longer than my mathematical ability can be bothered to muster up, that’s a long time by the way. I guess I’ll have to ask for it in the bank... wait a minute, you realise what’s wrong with that, don’t you? Here we go again. So, according to the bank records, where did the money come from? It will have to have an account number in which it was transferred from, which leads me to think that someone is down one billion pound, AND they would instantly call the police, which will lead to me.

Let’s start again... 

“I wish to win the Lottery”

The next lottery draw I win. Yes! Get in! But it’s only two pound. I knew that would have happened, because I always think ahead. So instead I say... 

“I wish to win the Lottery Jackpot, The English Lottery jackpot” 

Oh yes! I have him now, or she, remember equal opportunities and all that. So the next lottery draw approaches and I wait impatiently for my numbers to come up, 3, 7, 14, 20, 21, 40, and the bonus ball is 17.

C**P!!

Those aren’t my numbers, what happened? I worked it all out. No body-swapping. No piles of money. No stealing. It was flawless, so what went wrong? Then it hit me, I didn’t say when, I got well and truly screwed, I would later put the Lottery on a Direct Debit, so as not to miss the Lottery once. Only to find out, at the age of 82 and on my death bed, that I had won the Lottery. I was a Billionaire for ten minutes, eight of which were spent having a heart attack.

I then looked up to find that my friend had gone. Sick of my eccentricity toward a simple question. I can't help myself.

Thank you for reading.