While walking my dog in the early morning hours, my mind tends to wander to far and fantastic places, as I’m not yet awake nor fully caffeinated. I ponder pygymy hippos (those exist!) and pocket giraffes (those do not exist), and all manner of what foods I’d like to eat during the course of the upcoming day (usually settling on popcorn, and Happy Planet ‘Extreme Green’ juice). I shuffle along in my own little world while my dog sniffs her way through everyone else’s worlds, oblivious to thoughts on the day, and of the future beyond. Lucky dog.

I started thinking about my retirement this morning. Yes, provided I don’t win the lottery in the next 10-15 years, I’ve still got some time to work and save, but it’s a thought that pops up from time to time. I’m grateful that it doesn’t weigh too heavily on me, because when I actually do put some energy into thinking about my retirement, I get a black, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yes, I have some RRSPs hanging around doing their RRSP thing, and at the rate I’m going if I retired at 65 years of age, I could live almost comfortably for a solid year or so before I went completely broke. I’m not a big believer that there will be any form of pension available to me when I hit retirement age, even though I’ve been stuffing money into that invisible account for 20 years now. I just don’t think there will be anything left over for my generation once the Baby Boomers take their share. I mean really, it’s a Scrooge McDuck silo of cash managed by the government, so I don’t think I’m being pessimistic when I say that it’ll be bone dry by the time I walk up the hill with my bucket to collect.

So, this morning I came up with the perfect retirement plan: When I turn 65, I’m going to rob a bank. Not for the money, but for the jail time. If I play my cards right, I can get myself situated in a cushy minimum security prison with food and bed taken care of. I just have to put some thought into it, because I don’t want to screw up and accidently murder someone, which would totally land me in maximum security. So maybe I don’t use a gun – just my finger in my jacket pocket. And maybe I’ll write a threatening note or something. That might not be enough to get me a life sentence though, so I’d need to make the note REALLY threatening. And maybe I’d need to wear a ski mask, and shout a lot.

I was thinking about starting a ponzi scheme, but I’m neither financially savvy, nor nearly charismatic enough for that (I’m also kind of lazy, and that ponzi shit takes dedication and a lot of paperwork). I also thought about just writing a series of bad cheques, but I’d feel guilty screwing over any poor saps who took the bait. I thought about dumping a shitload of oil into an ocean, but those people never get prosecuted, so that’s a bust. I also had the idea of selling weed to glaucoma patients, but that would most certainly wind me up in a Supermax prison with a 400 year sentence.

So I figured that robbing a bank in a half-assed way would be the most lucrative of plans. I wouldn’t actually take any money, as I’m certain I’d be tackled by a good samaritan before I managed to score any cash, and I wouldn’t have to hurt anyone because I’d only be armed with a note, some scripted shouting (“Alright everybody be cool this is a robbery! If any of you f*cking pricks MOVE, I’ll execute every motherf*ckin’ last one of you!”), and maybe a couple of those awesome canvas bags with the dollar signs on them.

It’s flawless, really. If I manage to get myself even a 25 year prison sentence, I’d be set until the end of my days! They wouldn’t be allowed to boot me out, so I’d have meals, a bed, medical care, access to education, a job in the laundry room, and hey, maybe even a girlfriend! I’m sure by that time in my life I’d have started to become a crotchety old bitch, so no one would really want to come and visit me, so I wouldn’t really miss out on a social life. And I’ve heard there’s mini golf.

And hey, if I screw up somehow and only get myself a 10 year sentence, I’d still have all the above perks, but after my release I’d have access to a number of resources and post-prison-life programs that would help ease me back into society. If I do it right, I could totally milk that for months! Sadly, I’d relapse right before my release, and dammit, I’d have to go back to prison. Shoot. Of all the luck, eh?

So that’s my retirement plan. I feel confident that I’ve thought this out well, and that there’s no possibility that it could end badly in any way whatsoever. I’m looking forward to my prison jump suit (orange is a good colour for me), and I just know I’m going to love the library. Maybe I can even squirrel away my $4/week laundry room salary, and have something to leave behind to donate to some animal-related charity. I’d just need to use some self-restraint and stay away from the Commissary while I was doing my time. But if they sell Peanut Butter M&Ms, those animals won’t be getting a dime. Just being honest.

Have a happy Wednesday everyone!