A few weeks back, when the lottery was worth 1.5 billion I,
like most people, went to the store and bought a ticket. In fact, I bought 2.
The night of the drawing, I went to bed before the numbers were called, but I dreamed
that I had won. The next morning I woke up in a cold sweat, grabbed the tickets
and ran to my computer. I hadn’t matched even one number, and I sat back-- so
relieved.
You see, in my dream I watched the numbers being called, and
one by one they matched. Then they called the Powerball, and yes, it was my
number. For a few minutes I was dumbstruck, then, realizing I had one and a
half billion dollars in my hand, I fainted and fell off the edge of the bed on
top of Molly, and she bit me. Coming to, for the rest of the night I paced the
house with a loaded rifle. The next morning I went to lotto headquarters to
claim my prize. So far, I had told no one. I asked that the money be
transferred to my checking account at my bank in Crosslake. Then, I called my
three children and Pat to tell them the news. Two of my kids called me a liar
and said, “That’s not funny, Dad” and hung up the phone. My son said, “Cool,”
and went on to ask me how my health was—and reminded me of his power of
attorney. Pat said, “Sure you did—but I need to go grocery shopping and will
you take me to Brainerd?”
Back in Crosslake, I went to the bank to check if the
transaction took place. They told me they couldn’t check right now because
something made their computers crash early this morning, and the FBI had closed
the bank thinking it was a terrorist action. When I told them I won the
lottery, one of the girls took my hand and led me over to the clinic next door.
She whispered something to the receptionist and a nurse gave me a shot. I woke
up an hour later, handcuffed to a chair. By that time, the truth was out and I
was released. The bank apologized and asked if I wanted to be on the board of
directors, in charge of their new addition? The clinic gave me a coupon for a
free physical, and a prescription of my choice. I wanted to go home, but my
road was closed, so I drove across the lake and snuck in the back door. My
phone said I had 14,000 messages in my voice box. My computer had crashed, and
there was a guy from Publishers Clearing House on my back porch, wanting to
know if they could borrow 5 thousand dollars a week, for life, because they
were in a bind.
Over the next few weeks, I changed my phone number and put
blinds on all of the windows, as the yard was full of people crying and holding
up requests written on cardboard. Molly had to use a litter box because I
couldn’t take her outside. I had death threats daily from disgruntled beggars,
and I hired three security guards just to watch my place. A man from Baxter,
who was in line behind me at the convenience store where I bought the ticket,
is suing me, claiming I jumped the line so I had his ticket. I hired the tax
firm, Wecheetem & Howe, to do my taxes. Pat and I escaped to South Florida,
where we are living under an assumed name. I drink a lot nowadays, and take
antidepressants. My son moved to Lake Minnetonka and won’t give me back my
checkbook. Molly ran away with a 3-legged Poodle. I just want to go home and go
for a walk. I hate the Lottery.
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