How Do You Purport to Know Me, Lottery Ticket Reader?

I strolled into the 7-Eleven across the street from my building recently, lottery ticket in hand. Sure, I spent most of my life making fun of the lottery for being nothing more than hope for the hopeless. And now I’m playing it occasionally which is probably a good commentary on what my own life has become. I approached the electronic lottery ticket bar code reader with cautious optimism. Sure, I knew I hadn’t won the jackpot, but there was still hope of some lottery magic. A free ticket? $10? Dare I hope $100, who knows?!?! With near-trembling hand I hold the bar code of my ticket (there’s only one like it in the entire world!) under the red laser and wait. Wait oh so long. Thoughts were racing through my mind about what would happen if I won $2, parlayed it into a new ticket, and THAT ticket won the jackpot. My excitement turned to pure, unadulterated, white-hot rage at what came next. This smarmy, condescending, prick of a lottery ticket reader had the balls, the fucking audacity, to tell me, “NOT A WINNER”. Fuck you man! You don’t fucking know me! You callin’ me a loser? Who the fuck are you? You are an inanimate object who reads tickets all day. What makes you so goddamned special? As though based on this one experience shared betwixt us you think you know who I am and the sum total of my life and accomplishments. Sure, I’m moping in here and playing the lottery, but I’ve got plans, man. I’m going places, hopefully soon, but certainly sooner rather than later. Just you see asshole. And when I next come back in here, rest assured muchacho, I’m going to be somebody. A grown up. A real man. And then you’ll be sorry, haha, you’ll all be sorry. Oh I can’t fuckin wait to see the looks on all your faces, you especially lottery ticket reader, when I gallivant back into this 7-Eleven, cock-of-the-walk I’ll be, hold my ticket under that laser beam and it will say in bright lights, “WINNER”. Man I cannot fucking wait for that day. But just to be certain I stuck the lotto ticket back under the reader, because, who knows? It could have just been a bad read, because obviously I’m not “NOT A WINNER”. I waited, I waited, the guy working the counter shot me a sympathetic glance, the obese chick drinking the slushee just stood there staring at me with bovine indifference, and then it happened…..”NOT A WINNER”. Listen, I can take it once from this lotto ticket reader, but not twice. “What the fuck did you say man?! You better not be talking to me, bitch! You wanna go? You wanna fuckin’ go?!” I yanked my shirt off and started dancing around. Grabbed the slushee off Tons O’ Fun and started cramming it in the lottery ticket reader hole. “Who’s not a winner now mutherfucker?! Huh? Hard to call people a loser with a fuckin’ broken slushee cup stuffed in your mouth, isn’t it?!” I was pulled out of the 7-Eleven by every available employee on hand, thrashing and screaming as I left, “I’m a winner goddamnit! You don’t know meeeeee!” The head 7-Eleven honcho, my man Sanjeevy, just said “Go home and sleep it off buddy, okay?”. I had to respect Sanjeevy, it is his show and I know the lotto ticket reader doesn’t speak for him. But they are ALL going to be sorry on the day I come back a winner. The biggest winner of them all, I’ll be. It is going to be so freakin’ awesome. I need to go buy some lottery tickets. What’s the jackpot up to?

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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