The Lifetime Lotto Loser

  Every day, people spend millions of dollars on lottery tickets. The allure of being able to immediately jump into the ranks of the wealthy will make anyone spend two bucks on chance. I've done it a few times, but I'm not one of these people that treat it like a religion. And this is about just one of the people that drive me fucking insane. The lifetime lotto loser.

   Lifetime lotto losers drop thouands of dollars annually, or maybe monthly, on the thought of instantly becoming a multi-millionaire. Again, the appeal is great. But it's how they do it that raises my blood pressure as soon as I see them. There's the notebook full of tickets tucked tight into the armpit, fearful that someone is going to jack that file full of lotto algorithms. The fist full of scratchers with only the barcode cleared off. A bulging pocket full of ones and good luck tokens. You've seen them everywhere. Grocery store on a beer run? Yup. Getting a quick cup of coffee at the gas station? Always. Anywhere that has that lotto symbol on the storefront, you will find the L3.

  But the preparation, the money spent, the hours daydreaming of a yacht, none of that bothers me. What actually irritates me is that I find a way to get stuck behind them EVERY FUCKING TIME. And unlike the people in a grocery store that will let you pass them when you only have one item, the L3 will occupy and defend their spot in line. They don't want anyone to get in the way of their possibly life changing transaction. So I wait. And wait. And watch. The body language and the gestures when the cashier or the machine is taking too long. "Did you check that one?" as they point with silver tipped fingernails from doing scratch-offs. Then, once that batch nets them $15 on a $200 investment, they then hand over the next $200 so that they can play the odds all over again. I want to scream.

  Now a simple $1.49 cup of coffee has turned into a 20 minute sociological study of the L3. Their elation at the machine emitting a "winner" chime. The disappointment when they lose on that $20 scratcher. After all of this, my coffee is now cold. So I go back, pour it out and refresh with 20 ounces of fresh, hot, amazing caffeine. I head back to the cashier, only to be cut off AGAIN by ol' silvertips. Never one to sit back, they have run their flaky digits over the new batch, and now impatiently await their fate from round two with the lotto machine. Unable to bite my tongue, I step forward and ask in the politest tone I still possess, "Can I just pay for this coffee please?". The cashier gladly obliges, as she gets a momentary reprieve from the scanner's migraine inducing beeps. I hand over my cash, and am informed by the L3 that i was "rude" and should wait my turn. Given the nasty scowl that the cashier was shooting at the L3, my guess is that I wasn't all that "rude" in comparison.