FA+
Shop
"Pulling Off A 'Costanza'..."
8 years ago
Since the ninth season of the HBO comedy series "Curb Your Enthusiasm" premieres this Sunday (October 1st), I thought I'd share a personal observation of my life that seems to reflect that of the character portrayed by the show's creator, Larry David...
As the co-creator of "Seinfeld" (along with its star, Jerry Seinfeld), Larry was too shy to appear on the show himself, so eventually they hired actor Jason Alexander to play a variation of Larry's fictional persona, named 'George Costanza'.
'Costanza' has a tendency to do things his way, which usually ends up getting him in trouble (everything from 'double-dipping' a potato chip during a wake, to getting into an argument with a motorist over the proper way to park a car [backing in or going forward], to selling his father's clothes [to a consignment store] without letting him know, to pretending that he's 'physically-challenged' just to land a high-paying job).
It has gotten to the point that anyone who has similar tendencies is accused of pulling off a 'Costanza' (with the name becoming an abstract noun or verb). Having said that, I would now like to make a full confession of a similar boneheaded move I'd made back in the late 1980s - which (fortunately) I'm managed to get away with, but knowing 'George', something would eventually go awry in catastrophic fashion...
During the '80s, I had a job at Rugby-Darby Pharmaceuticals - as one a of number of employees in their Art Department (working on catalogs of supplies for doctors, dentists, and veterinarians). It was a time-consuming occupation that was sometimes stressful, due to the deadlines we would have to meet on a regular basis.
To alleviate the tension, the Art Department staff participated in a 'lottery pool' - whenever the New York State Lottery's jackpot was in the millions of dollars. Each Lotto ticket cost one dollar for two games; Match all six numbers (from 01 to 52) and you'd win said jackpot. The 'pool' consisted of said staff, plus a few of our superiors; forty people in all. And we'd each invest two dollars (for four games) per person, or a total of $80 (160 games).
I was chosen to be the one to collect the money from each employee, and (during my lunch break) I would go to the nearest venue that sold Lotto tickets. When I would return, I would show off the tickets I'd bought to my co-workers, and use the Xerox machine to print out copies of said tickets, and pass them along to everybody involved in the 'pool'. Later, I would place the tickets in a desk drawer (next to my artist table) and locked it up (so that no one steals any potential winning tickets).
If one of those Lotto tickets matched three numbers, plus a supplementary number (for a small cash prize, like $16), I would either cash it in and split the winnings among the forty of us, OR we would each chip in a balance of money (so it would equal the original $2.00 per person investment). This, of course, all depends on whether the jackpot increases or not. If a ticket holder outside of our 'pool' won the jackpot, we would discontinue said 'pool', until a later date (when a new high jackpot total is promisingly available).
One day, one of my superiors told me that we're wasting too much paper and ink from the Xerox machine, making copies of the tickets; So, I took it upon myself to write down all of the numbers from all 160 games, compressing it to just one sheet of paper, and then passing one copy along to each employee.
Then, during one of my visits to a liquor store that sold the New York Lottery tickets, a thought came to my mind: "The odds of winning the millions of dollars in this jackpot are so astronomical, we're just throwing away our money. Plus, I am wasting my own money in gasoline prices - driving to and from the place where I'd buy the tickets."
That's when I'd decided to pull off a 'Costanza'...
The next time we'd held our 'lottery pool', after I'd collected the $80 from everybody, I went to my desk drawer, unlocked it, and (without anyone looking) took out a stack of losing Lotto tickets from a previous game and stuffed them into my pants pocket. Then, instead of driving to the liquor store to buy new Lotto tickets, I went to the Dime Savings Bank and deposited the money into my savings account (which, at that time, gave 5% interest).
After having a quick bite to eat, I'd return to the workplace, pull out the old Lotto tickets from my pocket, claim that they are the new tickets I had bought (but only displaying them from a distance; if anyone saw the past date on even one of the tickets, they would immediately get suspicious), and finally placed them back into my desk drawer and locked it up again. Then, I would pass around the one sheet copy of everyone's numbers, and my task would be complete.
And while these hopeful Lotto winner wannabes each became $2.00 in the red, I became $80 in the black. And if any of the (supposedly purchased) tickets matched enough numbers to earn a prize for the 'pool', all I had to do was drive to the bank and withdraw the winning amount from my account, and split it among the employees.
And I actually got away with this 'Constanza' a number of times, admitting (to myself) that this was even better than getting a raise at work!
Now, of course, the only thing that could possibly go wrong with my little scheme is the remote chance (slim, though it might be) that one day, one of those 160 tickets just might match all six numbers. Then, I would truly be royally screwed! Fortunately, this never came to pass, and none of my Rugby-Darby co-workers are unaware of this escapade of mine, to this very day...
But I would probably expect a scenario of this magnitude to happen to someone like 'George Costanza' on "Seinfeld", OR (more likely) to the character 'Larry David' on "Curb Your Enthusiasm". Imagine 'Larry' participating in a 'lottery pool', keeping the money for himself, and suddenly discovering that one of the tickets actually matched ALL of the numbers - with millions of dollars in the jackpot! (Hey, and 'to add insult to injury', the numbers on said winning ticket were ones that HE picked himself at random!)
How do you think 'Larry' would get out of this situation (which, of course, he probably won't)?!
Well, let's all share in his usual weekly misery, when the new season of "CYE" debuts on Sunday, October 1st on HBO. (Consult your local Cable TV listings for the time and channel that airs the show.)
"Pretty good. Pretty... pretty... pretty... pretty... pretty good!"
As the co-creator of "Seinfeld" (along with its star, Jerry Seinfeld), Larry was too shy to appear on the show himself, so eventually they hired actor Jason Alexander to play a variation of Larry's fictional persona, named 'George Costanza'.
'Costanza' has a tendency to do things his way, which usually ends up getting him in trouble (everything from 'double-dipping' a potato chip during a wake, to getting into an argument with a motorist over the proper way to park a car [backing in or going forward], to selling his father's clothes [to a consignment store] without letting him know, to pretending that he's 'physically-challenged' just to land a high-paying job).
It has gotten to the point that anyone who has similar tendencies is accused of pulling off a 'Costanza' (with the name becoming an abstract noun or verb). Having said that, I would now like to make a full confession of a similar boneheaded move I'd made back in the late 1980s - which (fortunately) I'm managed to get away with, but knowing 'George', something would eventually go awry in catastrophic fashion...
During the '80s, I had a job at Rugby-Darby Pharmaceuticals - as one a of number of employees in their Art Department (working on catalogs of supplies for doctors, dentists, and veterinarians). It was a time-consuming occupation that was sometimes stressful, due to the deadlines we would have to meet on a regular basis.
To alleviate the tension, the Art Department staff participated in a 'lottery pool' - whenever the New York State Lottery's jackpot was in the millions of dollars. Each Lotto ticket cost one dollar for two games; Match all six numbers (from 01 to 52) and you'd win said jackpot. The 'pool' consisted of said staff, plus a few of our superiors; forty people in all. And we'd each invest two dollars (for four games) per person, or a total of $80 (160 games).
I was chosen to be the one to collect the money from each employee, and (during my lunch break) I would go to the nearest venue that sold Lotto tickets. When I would return, I would show off the tickets I'd bought to my co-workers, and use the Xerox machine to print out copies of said tickets, and pass them along to everybody involved in the 'pool'. Later, I would place the tickets in a desk drawer (next to my artist table) and locked it up (so that no one steals any potential winning tickets).
If one of those Lotto tickets matched three numbers, plus a supplementary number (for a small cash prize, like $16), I would either cash it in and split the winnings among the forty of us, OR we would each chip in a balance of money (so it would equal the original $2.00 per person investment). This, of course, all depends on whether the jackpot increases or not. If a ticket holder outside of our 'pool' won the jackpot, we would discontinue said 'pool', until a later date (when a new high jackpot total is promisingly available).
One day, one of my superiors told me that we're wasting too much paper and ink from the Xerox machine, making copies of the tickets; So, I took it upon myself to write down all of the numbers from all 160 games, compressing it to just one sheet of paper, and then passing one copy along to each employee.
Then, during one of my visits to a liquor store that sold the New York Lottery tickets, a thought came to my mind: "The odds of winning the millions of dollars in this jackpot are so astronomical, we're just throwing away our money. Plus, I am wasting my own money in gasoline prices - driving to and from the place where I'd buy the tickets."
That's when I'd decided to pull off a 'Costanza'...
The next time we'd held our 'lottery pool', after I'd collected the $80 from everybody, I went to my desk drawer, unlocked it, and (without anyone looking) took out a stack of losing Lotto tickets from a previous game and stuffed them into my pants pocket. Then, instead of driving to the liquor store to buy new Lotto tickets, I went to the Dime Savings Bank and deposited the money into my savings account (which, at that time, gave 5% interest).
After having a quick bite to eat, I'd return to the workplace, pull out the old Lotto tickets from my pocket, claim that they are the new tickets I had bought (but only displaying them from a distance; if anyone saw the past date on even one of the tickets, they would immediately get suspicious), and finally placed them back into my desk drawer and locked it up again. Then, I would pass around the one sheet copy of everyone's numbers, and my task would be complete.
And while these hopeful Lotto winner wannabes each became $2.00 in the red, I became $80 in the black. And if any of the (supposedly purchased) tickets matched enough numbers to earn a prize for the 'pool', all I had to do was drive to the bank and withdraw the winning amount from my account, and split it among the employees.
And I actually got away with this 'Constanza' a number of times, admitting (to myself) that this was even better than getting a raise at work!
Now, of course, the only thing that could possibly go wrong with my little scheme is the remote chance (slim, though it might be) that one day, one of those 160 tickets just might match all six numbers. Then, I would truly be royally screwed! Fortunately, this never came to pass, and none of my Rugby-Darby co-workers are unaware of this escapade of mine, to this very day...
But I would probably expect a scenario of this magnitude to happen to someone like 'George Costanza' on "Seinfeld", OR (more likely) to the character 'Larry David' on "Curb Your Enthusiasm". Imagine 'Larry' participating in a 'lottery pool', keeping the money for himself, and suddenly discovering that one of the tickets actually matched ALL of the numbers - with millions of dollars in the jackpot! (Hey, and 'to add insult to injury', the numbers on said winning ticket were ones that HE picked himself at random!)
How do you think 'Larry' would get out of this situation (which, of course, he probably won't)?!
Well, let's all share in his usual weekly misery, when the new season of "CYE" debuts on Sunday, October 1st on HBO. (Consult your local Cable TV listings for the time and channel that airs the show.)
"Pretty good. Pretty... pretty... pretty... pretty... pretty good!"
