Have you ever gone into a convenience store on your way to work, to pay for the gasoline that you’ve already pumped, only to be standing behind Wilfred Brimley’s retarded brother who is buying a fist full of lottery tickets. You’re in a hurry and this fool is spending his fortune from the sale of black market food stamps to invest in the capitalist system. And, once he buys them, he doesn’t move aside to scratch them off, but instead stands right there and scratches them one-at-a-never-ending time, never quite hitting the jackpot, but invariably winning another ticket or two so he can stand there even longer.
What makes matters worse is that he smells like my friend Willie did when he got stuffed into a trash can behind the Do-Drop-In in DeSoto, Kansas back in the 70s after his hippy butt decided it would be interesting to drop into the biker bar and have a beer with the boys. Instead, he found himself floating in a stew of stale beer, moldy French fries and half smoked cigarette butts which all things considered was better than having become the wife of one of the bikers, which he came closer to than getting the desired beer he sought.
So, you call the boss and tell‘em you’re going to need a couple days off because you’ve run into a jam and it’s got nothing to do with Grape Nuts. Now, I’m always hesitant to stop someone from going over to the dark side as there may be very personal and religious reasons for them doing so. I remember once stopping a guy in a truck stop from buying a $20 lottery ticket. I told him that his chances of winning were slimmer than being struck by lightening and that the whole scam was a ruse on the part of the state to tax stupid people who were supported through an array of handouts and welfare programs to placate them, that it was a way for the state to get that money back, and he would only see his family suffer his obvious loss of the $20. He thanked me and stood aside talking.
As we stood there, an obviously successful business type who had driven up in a Mercedes and looked for all the world to have more money than God, approached the counter and plunked down his $20 for the ticket that would have been the poor soul’s who I had just saved. BINGO! Just like that the business man hit a $40,000,000 instant winner and walked away joyously. I’ll never forget the look on my new, now ex-friend’s face.
He has to this day probably never considered the stress that all those winnings would have placed on him and is ignorant of how happy I probably made him. Of course, it could have been worse. I could have found myself in Willie’s trash can or worse yet, become his new sister-in-law.
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You know, I have always liked French fries. And they go berry berry well with lottery tickets. I sell lottery tickets here in my bail-bond office and I can tell you, the people who buy them would also like French fries but I am not allowed to sell French fries so that is berry berry bad, I tell you.
I personally don’t carry much cash. So, a few months ago, I went into a convenience store to make a quick purchase of some food for dinner. I bought a can of soup, a loaf of bread and some cheese crackers. The clerk rang up the tab and it came to $37.58. I said, “Wheh, that’s a lot of change for only a few items.” The clerk said, “Well, you’ve got your bread for $13.50 and your soup for $19.98, then your cheese crackers….” I said, “Never mind. That’s OK!”
I pulled out my wallet and only had $36.00. So, I gave the clerk a buck and asked for an instant winner ticket. I scratched it off and, BAMB! I lost. So, I gave the clerk another dollar and proceeded to lose again. This went on until I had bought and scratched off seven tickets. All the time, the line behind me was getting longer and longer. The customers started to grumble. The clerk gave me a dirty look. I plunked down one more dollar and the clerk reached under the counter and pulled out a separate ticket and handed it to me saying, “Here, try this!” I scratched it off and BINGO! I won $10.00. I now had $38.00 for the $37.58 purchase.
I left the bread, the soup and the cheese crackers on the counter and walked out of the convenience store. The clerk and the crowd just stood there and watched in disbelief. They were dumbstruck. They were looking at a winner, the likes of which they had probably never seen before, nor would see again. There are no words to explain the high I got nor the power I felt.
That….is how the game is played!!! That….is how the lottery works!!!
I never waste no money on dat lottry stuff what I could spend on a good bottle of ripple. I likes French fries, but not dem ones day gut her in dis hosepital. I likes dem wiff my medication. Goats is ok, but dey smell bad in da summer like my sister bell, which she never bave. Heh, heh, heh, dem French fries days sell at macdonls will fit in between yur toes day will.
Since I was a passenger with 'ol Willie that day, a passenger in his 'ol ragtop, let me fill you in on the happenings that afternoon at the 'Dew Drop Inn.'
Now, Willie was never known for his keen sense of smell, so, as we sauntered into that fine Desoto establishment, it was darn obvious that nothing was going to stop Willie from his brew that day.
I tried my fraternal best to try and prevent the impending confrontation, the eventual battle between Jayhawk innocence and the Boys of Summer, but it was just plain gonna happen.
As the leather began to envelope 'ol Willie, I saw him pull out his draft card and his Bic, to try and impress the crowd....they laughed in delight. Then, he swung open his tassled vest, displaying an old backstage pass to Jethro Tull...ahhh, it made nary a dent. Finally, he dropped to his knees, began a chant that came from some long ago forgotten Tibetan language...I AMMMMMMMMMMM....it did nothing.
Willie and I high tailed it out of the Dew Drop, leapt into his dark blue B, and headed down K-10, barely looking back. We headed back into town, found safety with a cup of soup at our local Johnny's.
It just wasn't meant to be. I've never been back...but....I often think of that adventure as I stand in line at my local QT, scratching my tickets.
I have a strong suspicion that's about all Willie does these days....is stand around and scratch his tickets...and I don't mean his lottery tickets neither.
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