The Day I Won the Lottery

It was 11:30 P.M. and I was watching "Food 911" on the Food Network. Tyler Florence, the host, was about to pull a batch of chocolate pecan brownies out of the oven, but was forced to pause for a commercial break (By the way, kudos to the programming execs at the Food Network for giving Tyler Florence his own show. He's young, musclebound, funny, charming AND he can cook. Truly, what woman would be able to resist? Not me. I am not made of stone, people. If you prick me, I will bleed. Anyway.).

I flipped absentmindedly to channel 9 just in time to see Hal Fishman review the winning lottery numbers.

I knew I had won right away because I always use the same numbers. 13: the number of Jesus' disciples plus 1; 11: an homage to my dog, 11 years old when I put him to sleep; 16: the number of my apartment; 10: the number of toes or fingers I have; 5: the number of times I have shampooed the carpet in my apartment and 3: the number of times I have eaten corned beef hash, each time foolishly hoping it would not taste or smell like dog food.

I did not scream. I did not sit up straight in bed. I lay there in the dark, quietly. I wouldn't say I was in shock, really. Somehow I had always known that I would be the recipient of a disgustingly large amount of money, and that it would come from no work or talent on my part; I just hadn't known when.

I was overcome with the most powerful desire to purchase something-- anything-- but alas, at 11:43 on a week night, all stores are closed. I did the next best thing I could think of: I went straight to the freezer and polished off the pint of Cherry Garcia, knowing with every delicious, creamy spoonful that I could now easily afford liposuction or a personal trainer if necessary.

My mind raced. Should I call my boss and quit that night? It was way past what could be considered a decent hour to call anybody, but so what? I hated my job. The endless phone calls from demanding clients. The "smile" I had to have in my voice when I spoke to them. The long hours. The crappy pay. 4 long years of this had turned me into a bitter person, full of bile and fury. I picked up the phone to call, and then I put it down. I decided that going in to work and informing my boss in person would me much more satisfying.

The dress code for my office is professional, so I went to work the next day wearing jeans and a bikini top. For the record, I hate my body and under normal circumstances would never wear a bikini anywhere. Some things must be sacrificed to make a point.

At first, no one noticed. I had worn a blue blazer over the bikini top, not wishing to create a spectacle of myself before the desired moment.

My boss walked in and breezed past me into her office, as usual not bothering to make eye contact with me.

"Did you call that company yet?" she called out from her office as she checked her email.

"Yeah," I said. "I told them to go fuck themselves."

"What?" She poked her head out of the office to hear me better. "I didn't hear you."

"I told them them I would call them later today to update them."

"Oh. Okay." Pause. "Are you wearing jeans??"

I looked down, as if noticing them for the first time myself. "Yeah. I am!"

"Why????"

"Because they go with the rest of my outfit." And at this moment I stood up and removed my blazer, tossing it cavalierly over my shoulder.

I will never forget the look on her face. It was worth all the money in the world. Well, not really. But it was good.

"You need to go home right now and change." Her voice was calm, but had an edge of hysteria to it. "Now." she said, when I didn't move. "Right now. Hurry up." I could see she was doing her best to remain calm in the freakishly bizarre situation, but I could also see that she was becoming more and more unglued as each second passed. I waited until I saw a vein appear above her left temple.

"Um, no," I said. "I don't think I'll hurry. I think I'll take my time, actually. I think I'll take as long as I want. Like, maybe, FOREVER. BECAUSE...." --and here I turned dramatically toward the rest of the office-- "I WON THE LOTTERY LAST NIGHT!"

It took a second to sink in, but only a second, and then there were whoops all around from every chair. People stood up and cheered. Of course they were happy for me! One of their own had escaped the prison of pantyhose, tight shoes and thankless pay. They couldn't help but cheer.

I ran a victory lap around the perimeter of the office, my blazer still over my shoulder, trailing behind me like a festive parade streamer. For a brief moment I considered throwing a chair through a window (a la The Chief from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest) but in the next I reconsidered. Those windows are thick and probably wouldn't break, thus diminishing the effect.

Finally I walked to the exit. I stood in the doorway and said in the best Cartman imitation I could muster, "Screw you guys, I'm goin' home."