And The Lucky Number Is . . .

I stopped in at the local gas station/superette the other day and went in to pay for what I’d put in the tank. I’ve been gassing up there for years and know the cashiers. As one of them was ringing up the gas I told her, “The lottery ticket you sold me the other day didn’t work.” She looked up and I continued, “You know if this was Target, I’d be bringing it back.”

I got a “Yeah, right.” and a chuckle as a response.

Back when it first came out, I used to buy a lottery ticket every once in a while. I looked at it as entertainment. From the time I bought the ticket until the published results told me the ticket was a loser I could spend idle moments day dreaming about what I could pay off, where I could live, trips to take, philanthropy to do and about a dozen other things. For a bit, it would take away cares and free up creative juices. When the ticket didn’t win I’d go back to my real life with some things to think about. It was cheap entertainment for a buck.

Pat kept telling me I didn’t win because I had bum numbers. I always took the ‘quick pick’ but I told her if she didn’t like mine, she should come up with her own. She did. It’s a combination of birthdays, an anniversary, and a number from her grandparents arriving in America. Actually, she came up with two sets of numbers – almost identical – and she couldn’t decided which to use so she kept them both. It somehow became my job to make sure we have a ticket. Twice a week I’m at the superette getting a lottery ticket at two bucks a time. So far this year, I’ve won seven dollars.

The lottery isn’t as much fun to play when it becomes an obligation. Creativity is replaced by anxiety when I realize late on a Wednesday evening that I don’t have a ticket and I’ve got twenty minutes to bustle out and buy one. There’s only about a one in four billion chance that one of the two numbers will win but if one of them ever does and I don’t have the ticket . . . I’m toast.