Man, I’ve got this lottery business down pat. Got those Powerball people right where I want them, which is me playing on their money. But alas, my incredibly lucky Powerball run is in the tank.
This story is truly remarkable, assuming we keep the ‘remarkable’ bar low. It begins when yours truly pops in at Pump and Pantry to shoot with the lottery folks from Lincoln.
While we were all hanging around waiting for the photo op, I engaged in my usual goofy banter. During this time I revealed that to date, with age 60 coming around the bend next July, I had yet to buy a lottery ticket of any kind. Ever.
This effectively threw down the gauntlet for the big city lottery folks. Their product manager, Mike Elwood, offered up a complimentary scratch ticket.
Immediately I set about proving the truth of my ‘never bought a ticket’ statement by having to ask where I was to scratch, and how. Sharon Hansen offered up a penny and I began to scratch, lucking into the correct side on the first try. How much should I scratch off? All of it, replied a lottery type whose eyes involuntarily rolled a bit at my question.
What was next, once the ticket was suitably scratched? Take it to one of the lottery folks to see if I’d won anything. Hey, stop that snickering. How else was I to know.
Two bucks! I won two bucks! Doggone, it felt good. Kind of all warm and sated like.
Being possessed of at least the financial acuity of a big city mortgage lender (not really so hard when you think about it) I took the long view and re-invested my windfall in two Powerball tickets on the spot.
I’ve never been so much as an occasional gambler, yet even I can see playing with ‘house money’ beats plunking down ‘my money’ every time.
So for a day or two I went about business as close to normal as possible considering two numbers pulsed with the promise of riches right there in my wallet. Still, I managed to prove my shortcomings once again by forgetting to check my ticket for a day or two after the drawing. Naturally, the beleaguered P&P folks had to show me how to use the little ticket scanner, too.
Sure enough, “Winner!” popped up in the little window. While the nice lady went back around the counter to see what I’d won (the pot was $162 mil or some such), I fought to maintain consciousness.
Three bucks! What? Three bucks? I had no idea there was any such thing as a $3 Powerball winner. After regaining a semblance of composure, I handed over the $3 for three new numbers. When that ticket popped out it was accompanied by a free chip in a brand new game, something called MyDaY. Trouble was, I couldn’t redeem the pre-launch coupon until October, still a week or so away. The clerk declared me “a lucky man” to have been randomly selected for this extra opportunity and sent me ... now a certified Powerball winner ... on my merry way.
A couple days later there I am, back at the ticket scanner, a “Winner!” once again. Can you believe it? Me neither.
This time I do even better than last time, scoring four (yes 4) bucks instead of three.
As you might imagine, by now I’m thinking, “Holy cow! This business of winning at Powerball is a breeze. Only thing left to do now is go for a 4 with a half-dozen or eight zeroes stacked to the right.
Alas, the little scanner declared, “Sorry, not a winner.” Bummer. But as my ship was about to settle to the bottom, suddenly that still-unredeemed MyDaY ticket came to mind. The joy of realization washed over me ... I was still in the game.
So Friday of this week, in I went ... MyDaY ticket in hand and high hopes between the ears. Not as high as before perhaps, but still kinda, sorta high considering last gasp time was nigh.
Crushing sadness washed over me when “Sorry, not a winner” popped up.
The stunning run of luck that I’m certain had Powerball officials gasping with stress was finally over. Kaput.
The upside? Look at all the entertainment I got out of it. Plus, a lifetime record of never having lost a single dime (of my own money) on a lottery ticket remains completely intact. Even managed to squeeze a column out of it.
What do they mean gambling doesn’t pay?
Contact — stephen.moseley@yorknewstimes.com
