The lottery purse is higher than ever right now at a cool, billion dollars. My father said to me a few days ago, “Hey, can you look at something for me?” which at this point, translates to can you help me because you’re young and can do these things. He wanted to play the lottery but couldn’t read the small numbers. It was a real bonding experience as he relayed to me all his special numbers that were all our birthdays. He’s been playing these numbers for years which definitively tells me there is nothing special about any of us. I asked him if I could take some of the winnings because my youth-services aren’t free and I’m selfish. He obliged and we discussed what he’d do with a billion dollars. He didn’t have an answer and I’m confident he’s never considered winning. I’m fairly certain he’d buy nothing and my mom would spend it all on a few rugs from HomeGoods and the rest of the billion would go to puzzles for my niece and nephews. Just a shit-ton of puzzles.
I went to the local gas station to play the magic numbers and had to wait in line while this guy–probably 85 years old–underwent a flashback of his entire life. He was trying to play the lottery (I think) and kept looking at a blank TV screen overhead of Keno. The whole process, in which he didn’t mutter a single word, took the seven longest minutes of my life.
Is there anything sadder than an 85 year old playing the lottery?
It’s over, pal.
Absolutely crazy behavior buying lottery tickets at that age. The lottery in general is loony tunes but stop it, you’re playing days are over. What are you going to do with it? You’re going to die tomorrow and it wouldn’t even be ironic like it was in Alanis’ song. It’s totally appropriate because you’re so old. Did I mention that PRIOR to buying the new lottery tickets, he passed in his OLD ones and the young cashier had to tell him–in the saddest way possible–that there were no winners. Devastating. Buying lottery tickets at the end of your life-road is akin to fumbling through the radio stations trying to find a song when you’re PULLING INTO YOUR DRIVEWAY. The trip is over.
Let me back up this elderly truck a bit.
I actually love old people. In fact, in college they called me Old-Man-McGinn and I dressed up as an elderly man for Halloween. I love Jeopardy, chess, and other old-man activities. And know that old person that exists in every town that just sits on a rocking chair outside his house every day? I want to be that guy. I like that guy. Just so content with life, enjoying the beautiful monotony of each day. Re-reading this paragraph makes it seem like I’m going out of my way to convince you I’m pro old-people, like the racist folk who tell you about their black friend(s). Just believe me, alright?
So to recap:
-Don’t play the lottery if you wouldn’t be able to get on a plane to fly somewhere
– I won ‘best costume’ in college
-I’m going to P-Fitness now and still haven’t come across the infinity coin that gives you the never-ending massage.