LOTTERY FANTASIES

It was a rainy Saturday night. A torrential downpour pounded the city not unlike Mike Tyson pounding … well, anyone. I was indifferent to the weather, having chosen instead to indulge in a rock-solid panic attack. I had twenty minutes left to play the lottery and my numbers of choice were inexplicably inscribed on the forehead of a neighbor’s five-year-old son. A well-mannered, but not too bright child who I had forgotten to bring along for the occasion.

“Think very hard” Mohammed, the kindly deli owner said to me while pointing at his perfectly round shiny baldhead, “You only have nineteen minutes left to play!” Sensing anxiety, my ever-faithful lottery proprietor offered his help. “My friend, you should come back here now. Hurry!” He said, motioning for me to step behind the counter. “Here you can think. And think hard my friend! Very, very hard.”

He screamed something in Farsi to his children playing in a back room. The cute little dickens didn’t hear him at first; they were deeply engrossed in a game of Abduct The Innocent Civilian. Mo cautiously pushed open a padded door revealing a soundproof room that struck me as a small little Mecca of paradise. The walls were artistically draped in velvet of a variety of colors. Huge paisley patterned pillows filled every inch of space that was not taken up by the children’s toys. A pitifully small and sadly faded sign hung above the door which read: Small Little Mecca of Paradise.

“This is my mediation room, Okay, it was my meditation room. You can see what the little animals have turned it into. Still, here you can think. And my friend, think hard.” He gave me a thumbs-up sign. “I really think you will win tonight,” He said before leaving and closing the door. And that’s one of the schmaltzy reasons I love the guy so much. Mo unquestionably believes I will hit lotto someday.

I wasted no time in trying to visualize little Timmy Blankenship’s peanut-shaped noggin. I wracked by brain, but I could recall nothing. Then I remembered Mohamed’s suggestion to think very, very hard. I began to apply dangerous levels of concentration. After damn near having a brain aneurism, finally images of Timmy’s forebrain started to bear visual fruit. One by one, the mystery numbers came back to me. I checked them off in the microscopic boxes on the lottery card and sauntered out to the front counter to wager my hard earned tender. Mo and I spent the remainder of the time doing what we do every Saturday night, philosophically discussing and sharing lottery fantasies.

“I would immediately send all my children to boarding school. That is the very first thing I would do. Right away.” Mohamed said with a conquering smile.

“But wouldn’t you miss them?”

“Miss them? Not in two million years would I miss them. They are awful, terrible little people.”

“Well maybe a little time apart from the kids would be good.”

“Yes. It would be very, very good indeed.”

“You would, ya know, get to spend more time with your wife.”

“She I would send on a cruise.” He said motioning out the door and waving bye-bye.

“That’s sweet.” I said naively, “A nice romantic cruse together. You two could…”

“Not together my friend! Just her. God-almighty, a month away from that woman and I might dig up a little of my lost sanity.”

We continued with our usual repartee on the untold evils of having too much money and repeated our vows to live modestly despite our impending fortunes. What follows that bit of banter are the infinite exceptions to the rules of material indulgence.

“I would have to get a new car,” Mohamed said unhappily, “I think I would have to buy two. Yes, two. One for my wife, the beast, and one for that spoiled rotten, no-good teenage daughter of mine.”

“Don’t you want anything for yourself?”

“But this is for myself. Listen my friend to me. Just because I cannot stand the very sight of my wife and those little snot nosed tax deductions that run around here does not mean I do not want the very best for them. Believe me, if I won the lotto I would spend whatever was necessary to keep these people as far away as possible. Very very comfortable my friend, but also very far away”.

“I guess that’s not too extravagant.”

“But what about you? What is the first thing you will do when you win the lotto?”

This was my favorite question in our little game. Each week my answer would always be different and Mohamed was not only excited to indulge, but asked as if he had never dared the questions before.

“Buy a house in Provence.” I said with a desirous smile.

“Provence, yes, I have spent much time in the south of France.”

“I never knew that Mo.”

“Yes, my old terrorist training camp was in the French Alps.”

“I still can’t believe you were training to be a terrorist”.

“Oh I was young, you know the crazy things you think of when you’re young.” He chuckled, giving me a wily wink. “So let me ask you, who will you take care of first when you hit the jackpot?”

“Uh, my ex-girlfriend and I have a deal if I either of us hits lotto...”

“What? She will take you back?”

“No! I’d pay-off her student loans and all her plastic surgery.”

“My friend, let me explain to-you something. I would not only shell out money for my wife’s plastic surgery, I would pay her cold hard cash to have it done.”

“Do you think she’d do it?”

“Would she do it? Don’t be silly, I know she would do it. Not to look better mind you. God knows she doesn’t care if she looks like a pregnant Yak. But, any opportunity to spend my money is a temptation she simply can’t resist. But heaven knows she needs something done. Samara’s not exactly an ugly woman, but sometimes at night, she scares me”.

“See, you could drop a few grand just like that. In one day. Me? It would take time to spend the money.”

“No, no, no! Not spend, invest my friend. A young man like you should invest his money. Not waste it buying toys.”

“Well now Mo, I would have to treat myself to a few guilty pleasures.”

“But there are many diseases out there today.”

“I’m not talking about those kinds of pleasures. I mean, ya know, things, like a super computer.”

“Yes, but that you will need, a writer should have the best computer” he said disqualifying my shameless indulgence.

“Okay, I’d buy a Bianci.” I confessed.

“That’s a very expensive racing bicycle.”

“Yes it is Mo, and I’d buy one for you too. We could go riding together.”

“That’s very kind of you. But where’s the time?”

“But you know Mo, money can’t buy you happiness.”

“Listen to me my friend; the only people who say a stupid thing like that are rich people. No normal person thinks that way. Ever! If you have millions of dollars and you are unhappy, then there is something wrong with you. Something terribly, terribly wrong.”

“But money can’t actually purchase happiness.”

“But you understand that I disagree. Money can buy you anything you want to make you happy.”

“Oh I don’t know, you can’t buy good health or bring back a loved one.”

“This is true, on the other hand you know that if you had many million of dollars you could have any beautiful woman you wanted.”

“Not Vanessa Williams, but I get your point. Now Mo what would you buy for yourself?”

“A new sweater.”

“Come on man, I’m serious.”

“I am too. It gets very chilly in this store at night.”

“But Mo, if you hit lotto you wouldn’t have to work.”

“Oh, that is true. I wouldn’t need the sweater after all. In that case I don’t know”.

“You mean to tell me you can’t think of one material thing you’d splurge on?”

“A new tennis racket”.

“See, there ya go. A new tennis racket. That’s funny, in all the time I’ve known you I never knew you played tennis.”

“I don’t.”

“But you want to learn.”

“Not particularly.”

“So why did you say tennis racket.”

“ Well I had to say something.”

“But you said,

NEW racket!”

“Yes, a new one. I’m a millionaire. Why would I buy a used racket?”

“How silly of me.”

“It is okay. It pleases me far-more to hear about what you would do if you hit the jackpot”.

“Okay here’s one you never heard before. I’d buy a new cello”.

“Ahhh, a fine instrument. Very beautiful sound.”

“Yes it really is”.

“My friend, I didn’t know you played the cello.”

“I don’t,” I said. Now Mohamed was thrown.

“Yes, but you said NEW cello”.

“Yes a new one, if I am a millionaire, what do I want with a used cello?”