There was a time when I didn’t believe anyone really won the Lottery. In fact, I thought the Lottery, just like the Powerball, was a scam to bilk people out of their hard-earned money; and whenever I heard or read about someone’s winning, I figured it was all a hoax. In fact, the people I saw on television—all excited over winning the lottery—I suspected they were either employees of the State Lottery Commission, paid wannabe actors, or else relatives of employees of the State Lottery Commission. 

Then around, oh, 14 years ago—give or take a few months—back in my beloved Georgia, my husband, Chet, and I were sunbathing on the deck in back of our house. Having dozed off, we both stirred when we heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway; and upon opening our eyes, we saw an unfamiliar blue Ford pickup truck pull to a stop at the end of the walkway. The doors opened and two men got out. One, the driver, we recognized as someone who worked out at the gym to which we belonged, although we really didn’t know him all that well, given the only time we ever spoke was when we happened to be pumping iron at the same time. The other man was a total stranger who, based upon his rather unsteady gait, had obviously had a drink or two or three; and if additional evidence was needed, he was also carrying a can of Bud in one hand, a cooler in the other.

Spying us on the deck, the men joined us; and the guy from the gym (henceforth referred to as Guy One) introduced the other man to us (henceforth referred to as Guy Two). As Guy One explained, Guy Two was his friend, a local plumber; and he was driving Guy Two around because Guy Two was celebrating his good fortune and wanted to go visit “some good folks” in order to share the news. (I could but surmise that Guy One was driving around and stopping at the houses of everyone he knew, however remotely, in hopes of stumbling across a “some good folks” in the process.) On the other hand, good fortune it was indeed, for, as Guy One then announced, “My friend here, he just won the Georgia State Lottery.”

Beaming and rocking back on the heels of his cowboy boots (a display that almost caused him to topple over the deck railing), Guy Two opened the cooler and offered us each a cold Bud to mark the occasion. “Here,” he said. “Let’s make . . . hiccup . . . a little . . . hiccup . . . toast.”  He then collapsed backward into a nearby lounge chair and proceeded to relate us just how exciting it was to win the Lottery. For one, he had become an instant celebrity, been interviewed by the major news stations, and had his “face plastered all over the TV screen.” “Course,” he said, “one of them reporters, he asked me if I intended to go on working?” He snorted. “You know what I ask ‘im in return?” Not waiting for an answer, he laughed and slapped his knee. “I ask ‘im, ‘do you think I’m gonna go back crawling ‘round under other folks nasty houses—sliding on my back through cat and dog crap and mouse droppings—when I just won a **##^^ (deleted) million dollars? Man, get real.”

Arching one bushy eyebrow in that way he has, Chet said, “Will you get all the money at once or over a period of time?”

Guy Two grinned broadly. “I’m gonna get 50 thousand a year for 20 years.”

“Won’t you have to pay taxes?” Chet asked.

“Yep, reckon I gotta pay Uncle Sam his share, all right.”

“How much will that be? Do you know?”

“Nope, not rightly, but somebody told me he thought it’d be ‘round 40 percent, you know, ‘cause it’s winnings.”

Chet’s now arched both eyebrows. “Forty percent? But that means you’ll have only 30 thousand a year left after taxes. Is that enough to retire on?”

Guy Two narrowed one eye in obvious concentration, was quite a minute, then asked, “You plumb sure ‘bout them figures?”

Guy One spoke up at this point. Nodding, he said, “Sounds ‘bout right to me.”

Guy Two looked down at the beer can he was holding, studied it for a moment, then glanced toward the pickup truck. “Thirty thousand, huh?”

“Yep,” said Guy One. “Thirty thousand.”

Fifteen minutes later, our visitors were gone—the only sign of their passing the four empty beer cans on our deck. And as I once again reclined beneath the Georgia sun, I thought about how nice it would be to win the lottery—that is, if I could win more than a measly million dollars. Then again, I guessed I would settle for a million, although I would want it in one big chunk of change. That way at least I would feel like I had won something significant, if only for a while.