It was a beautiful early May morning. The sun was shining and it was slated to hit 70 degrees. There were large white cotton ball clouds that evenly coated the sky, letting rays pour through openly and highlighting shadows down the streets. The drive to work was tedious and life threatening as usual. Impatient drivers were weaving in and out and ahead of and behind other cars in a frenzy. But I was in a fine mood. I took my time and I smiled.
When I got to work I walked into my gray cubicle, smiling and greeting everyone along the way. I surveyed my gray desk and I checked the news. Then I got up, went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
“Every time! It happens every shit damn crap shit time I buy a lottery ticket! Every single time I’m actually, honestly, sincerely surprised when I don’t win.”
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I tried to figure out how I failed. I collected my thoughts, went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, sat back down at my gray desk in my gray cubicle and stared at the dim, discolored screen of my laptop.
“It’s my only way to the top,” I thought to myself. “And they’re wrong. Playing the lottery isn’t another way for poor, desperate people like me to waste money. It’s the only chance I have.”
I took a slug of my coffee and checked my email. My palms were already clammy from the beginnings of a caffeine buzz on an empty stomach. My focus was already misplaced from the disappointment of yet another defeat. I quickly went back to the news to read the story about a man from bumbleshit-sticks-nowhere USA winning hundreds of millions of dollars. I scrolled to a past story of a lawyer from too-expensive-for-me-to-ever-live America winning a few dozen millions dollars.
Why does it always work out that way? Someone is going to win. So why can’t it be me? Why is it never me? I can’t believe how many times another already-rich person or a toothless country bumpkin wins the lotto. The bumpkins are just going to piss it away on Bud Light and trucks. And the rich? Do that many rich people play the lottery? When is it ever enough? What happened to the middle class?
I slugged the rest of my coffee. It was piping hot and burned my stomach as it swished around, so I unwrapped four antacids that would be my breakfast.
I would do good things with that money, baby Jesus, so you should give me some. I would donate at least a little of it to charity and kids and hunger and things. I would start companies and keep hardworking Americans gainfully employed. I would find a cure for panda sadness. I would buy a boat. I know what mom says, and I agree. I truly believe that money can’t buy happiness. But damn it, money can buy me the time to better look for happiness.
Just then I watched a large chunk of smoke gray dust float down from the light fixture above. It dropped perfectly into my emptied cup and soaked up the remaining drops of coffee.
This is going to be a long life. I need that money.