Empty Handed

I didn’t win the lottery.

To be honest, I didn’t really expect to win, but the Powerball had reached a ridiculous over 400 million dollars, and someone, at some point, was going to claim a buttload of Benjamins. Why not me? Why not my family? Why not now?

The Saturday after Thanksgiving was the last big Powerball, and my husband said in passing that we ought to get a lottery ticket. We were at the beach for the holiday, and we planned to drive home on a Friday. Our drive would take us by interstate and by small rural 2-lane roads, which meant we had the opportunity to pull over to a truck stop in the middle of nowhere and buy some tickets. It always seems the big winners get their tickets in some heretofore unheard of dead end, so there was precedence for our theory.

I want to throw out a disclaimer here about my life, which is, for all practical purposes, pretty damn cushy. I don’t work full time. We live quite comfortably. Our needs are met, and we have enough to travel and have nice things. I do appreciate what I have. We are very fortunate, and for the most part, I am generous and not materialistic.

At the same token, I would like to be able to do, well, more. My daughters will soon be in college, and how nice would it be to not have to worry about how to pay for their education? What if we had enough extra money to fix up the stuff we have been putting off around the house? What if we could take a trip to Disney World before Christmas? I recognize that I do not need over 400 million dollars. I would have been happy with a cool million, enough to handle that wish list and have a little left over to share with others in a charitable way. A million doesn’t go as far as it used to, you know.

We did go to Disney World before Christmas a few years ago, when at least one of our kids was still considered a child by Disney age guidelines. It was traditionally a slow week, which meant lower hotel rates and a free Disney dining plan. Airline tickets were a tad more affordable because we had more competition in our market. The temperatures were perfect for amusement, and the crowds were small, and we could ride almost every ride more than once without having to Fast Pass or wait in line. We refer to that as the Good Old Days.

Now my kids are considered adults, and there is no off-season, and we don’t have that kind of money to blow on an extra vacation just because it would be fun. I miss the Good Old Days.

So, yeah, I was thinking about college, but really, I wanted to go to Disney World. We stopped at a gas station between two towns, the names of which are irrelevant and instantly forgettable. My husband stayed outside to pump premium gas into my European crossover SUV, while my daughter, S, and I went inside the convenience store to purchase snacks and drinks and five dollars’ worth of lottery tickets.

After grabbing a bag of Bugles, our preferred car snack, and selecting the most disgusting version of Mountain Dew currently on the market, which according to my spouse is the grape-flavored Pitch Black, we walked up to the counter to pay.

“Is that all?” the cashier asked me.

“No, I would also like to buy some lottery tickets,” I told her.

This was the second time in my adult life I have purchased lottery tickets. Any other time we had a wild hair to lose some money, my husband was the one who did the deed. I don’t know the protocol for playing the lottery, as everyone near me was about to discover.

“What do you want?” the cashier said.

“I would like five tickets, please. And make them Powerball,” I said.

"Ten dollars.” she said.

I hesitated a moment, trying to understand how my five tickets turned into a ten dollar purchase. Then I remembered the Powerball part was an extra buck a ticket.

“That’s fine,” I said, and handed her my credit card.

"Numbers?”

“Hmm? Oh, um, I’d like quick pick please.”

She printed out a small receipt and put it on the counter. “Cash,” she said. Her irritation with me was visible.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Cash, not credit. You can’t charge lottery tickets.”

Did you know you cannot buy lottery tickets with a credit card? I sure didn’t. I took my wallet out of my moderately overpriced name brand handbag and dug around. I found two crumpled dollar bills and some pennies.

“I don’t have ten dollars,” I said. “Is it all right to wait and let my daughter run out to the car? S, go tell your father I need ten dollars to play the lottery.” I spoke those words. The whole thing was really happening. I was, in fact, this person.

A small line formed behind me. The cashier sighed and looked at me. The other cashier quickly handled the purchases of the other people waiting.

S came back inside with some money from my husband. “Here you go,” I told her, handing her the bill. “I’m sorry about that.”

She took my money and pushed the receipt in my direction. I grabbed it and our other stuff and went back to the car with S trailing behind me.

“I don’t think we are going to win, if the purchase experience is any indication,” I told my husband, handing him the slip.

“Everyone knows you can’t buy lottery tickets with cash,” he said.

“Apparently not everyone,” I said to him.

Two days later, the lottery numbers were announced, and out of our five tickets, we won four dollars for hitting the Powerball number. It was the only number out of all the numbers for the five lottery tickets that matched. Our four dollar win meant we only lost six dollars, so I guess that’s some sort of consolation. We planned on using our winnings to buy more lottery tickets. I think that’s how gambling works.

In case you were wondering, one person did win the entire over four hundred million dollars. One. Single. Person. I think it was a woman in Michigan. I don’t know what she is going to do with all that money, but I hope she goes to Disney World before Christmas.