Three women with whom I work and I have started a Lotto Club. We play the MegaMillions! and the Superlotto combo every Friday, $5.00 each. The club was created when the MegaMillions got past $150 million. This amount, for some reason, convinced us that we had a legitimate shot. Yes, of course, $150 million dollars with a billion to one chance. That's so ours! The pot has since dwindled back to the regular twenty million mark, but we don't care because we've already had the intuitive epiphany: THIS is what we're going to plan our future around. All dreams will be possible after we win this thing. We have so convinced ourselves that we're going to win that no one is able to tell us otherwise. We have created a super force field of winning energy that is impenetrable! When we win, we are aware that this confidence will be considered pure brilliance. In the meantime, it's a tiny bit sad.
The best part of the Lotto Club is when we huddle in our wiccan circle and blurt out strategies for better luck such as quick pick vs. favorite numbers. Or best days to play, how we should feel while buying tickets, always speaking well of other's good fortune, vowing to give two weeks notice and not leave anyone in a lurch -- we CANNOT jinx this in any way, shape or form. We are like a lotto curling team. One of us buys the tickets like the stone slider and the rest of us clear a karmic path to get our numbers to actually hit. We are brushing the spiritual ice to hit the target. We believe in this 500%. And good for us.
We also huddle up to declare what we would do with the winnings. This is something I typically only do alone while driving, and I can do it over and over again; parceling out winnings, wisely spending, contributing, winning at life in general. Saying a wish list aloud can feel a little silly: Saying "I'm gonna win at life," can attract some under-the-breath chuckles. Adding, "And help others win" sounds just as dumb. BUT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT, because we're gonna win, that's why. Our wish lists sometimes vary vastly. I say shit like, "I'm gonna volunteer and fuel some radical causes and save the entire world and, and . . ." My eyes widen with too much that needs to be done, and my co-Lotto Club member Ma says, "I will garden." And my eyes glaze over with the pure simplicity of that and I say, "Yea, garden."
Sometimes we discuss the threshold at which we will quit our jobs. We are all in agreement on the quitting thing. We joined the Lotto Club for that precise reason: So we could make our goddamn break at last, without any regrets. Most of the members say with a million dollars they would feel comfortable with quitting though since then it's slipped to $500K and maybe $250K. My bar is WAY lower. If I won a $500 scratch-off I might be history. Ironically Lotto Club also KEEPS us from storming out irrationally on a daily basis. We feel hopeful now. We feel we have a more solid plan than just picking up our purses at 10:32 am one day, thinking "fuck this" and giving our perplexed bosses the finger as we bust out for "no reason." Having a job in general can just irritate the fuck out of you. I'm learning this as I'm closing in on my third decade of working. Even if you have a good job, a well-paying job, a job that pretends to take care of you. It's mainly the Having To Get Somewhere At An Exact Time thing that digs into my schedule, and the whole Telling Me What To Do thing bugs me. And dealing with dummies. That really bugs me. I've worked with brokers for fourteen years and I've come to the conclusion that they are the exact definition of doing the same thing over and over and over again hoping for a different result. I'll say things like, "Hey Salesguy, go quote your customer 5,000 pieces of a chip I have in Europe." And then I hear the Salesguy immediately after on the phone saying, "Mr. Customer! I have your part. Yup. 10,000 right here locally. (click) Madness! I got that PO for ya!" And I throw papers in the air like I just don't care. This type of shit happens every single hour. If not with salesguys then with vendors. I'll say, "Hey Vendor, I got that PO for you. The 5,000 pieces?" And he'll say, "Who's this?" And I'll say, "I talked to you two seconds ago." And he'll say, "The price just went up." And I'll say, "Bullshit." And he'll say without blinking an eye, "Parts were just sold to someone else." More papers fly. Salesguy asks, "Can you get those 10,000 pieces here in an hour?" By three o'clock every day, I'm pounding my head on my key board.
Every person in our Lotto Club has similar stories. It all goes on and on: Up in the morning to get to work "on time." Doing stuff for dummies, bartering with jerkoffs, day in/day out. Do This Now, Do That Yesterday. Can't you pull off another miracle? BITE ME already.
The Lotto Club is a little oasis within the swirling stupidity and monotony. It's a solid mirage that keeps us going, gets us laughing at work. Keeps us hopeful and prevents us from flipping over desks and telling them all to SHOVE IT, only to panic later how the rent will get paid. Soon, this will not be an issue. Soon, very very soon, Ma will garden and K will take a limo to the spa and T will drop kick accounting to kingdom come and I'll save the entire world. Maybe I'll try a little gardening first.