When I’m 64

Rob*, a year short of the common retirement age, reflects on being without work, and without the luxury of not having to work.

I remember chatting to my brother about five years ago. We were at Newlands, watching cricket, and we were talking about plan Bs. I thought, I have to have a plan B, I can’t keep working for a salary forever. But I didn’t have an alternative. About six days later, plan B happened. I got the opportunity to join a company as a partner.

The last two years, though, it started getting difficult to make a profit, we started getting into debt, we had to do retrenchments, which cost a lot of money, but we did it. But by the middle of this year we knew we were going to lose by far our biggest piece of business.

I put myself on notice, because I knew if I went, then at least everyone else had a chance. So I resigned from the company, gave up my shares. I didn’t get anything out of it because we had debt. I don’t have a nest egg. And I don’t have a salary.

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When I came out of university, employees expected to join a pension scheme. Until 10 or 15 years ago, that was the norm, the company would pay half and you would pay half. When you changed jobs they would shift your savings on to the next company. Then one company I worked for said they weren’t going to do it anymore. They let it go. We got some pay-out for it, but I used it up.

There was also a time when my salary wasn’t enough to put money away. So I just stopped paying stuff I couldn’t afford anymore. At that stage we were more worried about what was going on month to month. I used to think, Whatever the future holds, the future holds. It’ll all be alright.

At one point I got a windfall. My CEO had once said, Battling to get out on our salaries is not a bad thing; but what you should be concerned about is wealth creation. That rang true, so I said, Don’t increase my salary, and instead I got some shares in the company. Then the company was sold. I remember that I got a cheque for R1.6million. I remember looking at it and saying, “I am a millionaire”.

I now know that a million means nothing. Of course, if I compare myself with a lot of other people it is something.

Anyway, what I did was put something towards the bond that I had at that stage. I also bought a piece of land, and we built on it. So basically what I’ve got is my property, a holiday house. That’s my nest egg, the only thing I got out of my nearly 40 years of working. It’s still a luxury because we can go there for holidays. I rent it out sometimes, so we get a bit of money for it. It’s a help. But at some point I’m probably going to have to let it go, sell it.

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I remember the day when I had a meeting with a financial advisor and he told me I had 100 paycheques left in my life. And now I’m there.

One of the things that always bothered me was the bullshit nature of the typical salesmen who’d come to see you. I let their superficial vibe put me off, and I shot myself in both feet. They would come and sit with you and say, Have you got children, have you got anything planned for them, do you want them to go and study? I said, Sorry man, I’ll work things out when they come. But never really seriously thinking about this day.

I think part of that was that I never saw myself retiring. I always saw myself as invincible. I loved my job. I didn’t even see it as a job. And that clouded my vision. I wasn’t hassled about my age because I don’t feel old. I thought I could work forever.

I get scared now when I think about the fact that I’m 64. My dad lived to 99. So I might have a third of my life still to live. In 30 years’ time I’m still most probably going to be around. And what the hell am I going to do? What am I going to do just to get to the doctor? I can’t do what other people do to their children. I don’t know what I’ll do because … I don’t want to be a hand brake on anyone else’s life.


*Not his real name