One point three billion dollars all for you for a mere two dollar bill.
You may win, this fact is true.
When I noticed that dollar figure, saw that in the prior drawing no one had won, I thought to myself this is outta hand and no longer fun, simply disgusting, a poor reflection of us all.
The fact that Americans, our society as a whole, can easily cobble together more than a billion dollars, two bucks at a time with lint filled loose change, easy to spare and not to be missed, for a glimpse of a dream that we all know won’t be realized.
The driving force of each two dollars spent, “deciding the color of my third new Ferrari, if only I would win.” With that bundle of cash, wild spending would ensue to an insane degree no more worries at all anymore.
That thought made me want to puke, to get physically ill when I saw an old man standing in front of a store, under the glowing red light Powerball sign, holding his hat, asking passer byes for a single sole dime.
The Powerball is so fat, the signs light up in triple nines, there’s no more room, it’s at capacity at nine hundred ninety nine million, more than a quarter of a billion dollars short.
All I could think of was the last Christmas letter I received from Seattle’s Union Gospel Mission requesting twelve dollars to feed a few homeless this past holiday season.
It struck me like a gravity bong hit of high density “Alaska Thunder Fuck” I don’t need any money it would only be a want and the cat with the hat seems to really have a need. For me to spend two dollars fulfilling a want, when there’s another human being truly in need, I’d be another selfish American with sights set on greed.
Before going into the store to get my tall boy beer I asked the old guy, “what would two dollars do for you?”
“It would save me from asking twenty people more for a dime to spare, most not acknowledging me just giving me a blank stare. More than that it would calm my morning shakes cuz two bucks will buy me a can of malt liquor and that my friend, is what I really need.”
I passed on buying a Powerball ticket and bought the old boy a tall beer like mine. My beer is a want, his is truly a need. I realized in doing so I’ll be passing on the glory of becoming a billionaire and with that I’m ok. I have everything I need and most of what I want, now so will the old guy as I handed him his twenty four ounce can. He said, “Thanks” and gave me a smile noting that his alcohol withdrawal was getting near.
It’s not my place to judge him but being human I can’t help it. Treatment and therapy, could in the least, help make his life better. How many old cats, ladies and kids could a billion three help?
We’ll likely never know but I am sure the lottery office is designing revised Powerball signs with a fourth numeric slot to whet the appetite of more Americans wants, neglecting more needs.