Lotto Scratchers Piss Me Off
It was late. I was tired. I had a long drive ahead of me. I just wanted to stop off at the gas station and get on the road. I swiped my credit card before I started pumping the gas because you sons of bitches won’t let me pump first and pay later. Yes, I understand why- but it still sucks ’cause I used to be able to tack on a bunch of junk food at the back end of the transaction without my wife knowing. Now I have to go into the store and get yelled at for charging only $3.00 worth of shit because said wife won’t let me carry cash.
I grabbed a liter of Diet Mountain Dew and some Original Flavor Corn Nuts (What? I’m only human) and hurry to the counter to complete the transaction. I was anxious to get the hell out of there because of all the reasons I mentioned above, plus that fact that the place smelled like rotten patchuli. There were two registers open – one of them was manned by a kid that looked like his I.Q. was about room temperature. There were already two soccer moms with their arms full of stuff sighing loudly at him. The other register was being handled by a short Pakistani man. He was pleasant and moving fast. Even though there were a couple more people, I chose his line because I knew he’d get me out of there sooner.
I read the packages of the trucker-strength pep pills and wondered why 5-hour energy had to cost $3.50 while I waited. The old feller in front of me with the white hair and the white beard had nothing more than a 6-pack of tall boys. He was thin and he looked tired and malnourished. I was almost sure that he was finishing up with some brews after a hard day of work. He was gonna set the cans on the counter, give the guy behind the register a couple of sentences that included the word “Yup”, pay cash and leave. I sneered at the sighing soccer moms because my advanced intelligence had told me that I would get through faster with this guy, even though the line was longer.
Just as I was about to burst with rotten-patchuli-convenience-store pride, the old guy in front of me stepped to the head of the line, pulled out a stack of rubbed-out lottery tickets from his back pocket and asked my new Pakistani friend to check each of them with “that beeping machine”.
“GODDAMNIT!!!!” I thought as I peeked over the old guy’s shoulder. “No…Dear God please no! Anything but a scratch-off junkie! Anything!”
The man watched with the eyes of a rediculously gullible hawk to make sure that the clerk didn’t miss any.
“Sir, I can’t help but ask,” I said. “Those are scratch-offs, not Powerball. Can’t you tell if you’ve won just by looking to see if there either is or isn’t three consecutive pigs on that “Mak’n Bac’n” scratcher? Why does he need to scan them?”
The man shook his head and shoulders with disapproval, “Cause you never can be too sure. One time Maybell was pretty sure that she’d thrown away a $15,000 winner. We cain’t have that happenin’ agin.”
I rolled my eyes in bewilderment as the machine continued to beep. I lost track at 36. The soccer moms from the other line sneered knowingly as they waddled past me and out the door, their clumsily sacked purchases swinging to and fro in tandem with the sound of their pant legs rubbing together.
“Well Herb, you won two bucks and two free tickets. What’ll it be?” I sighed loudly at the clerk’s salesmanship.
“I take 6 bingos, 8 more of them Mak’n Bac’n’s, 16 Money fer Nuthin’s, 9 of them Pac-mans…and hand me a Powerball sheet so I can fill in my birthday numbers!”
I quickly switched over into Mongo’s line behind an older, extremely thin and dentally challenged woman. She had only a glass bottle of tea, so I figured I was safe. Of course, she pulled out a giant wad of spent scratchers from her handbag like some sort of white trash homework.
I know that by the end they were all laughing at me because of how pissed the whole thing made me. All I have to say is that you’re the one paying the stupid tax and I’ll be the one laughing when new roads and schools aren’t built because greedy politicians at the state level squandered away all the money on Thai hookers. Ahh crap! Stupid bureaucrats! Okay, how about this – I’ll be the one laughing after I smash your head with the Deon Sanders hot dog cooker and shove an entire endcap of dehydrated meat up your ass. Stupid lottery.
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oh crap! is that the angry white guy?
Oh thank God, I thought I was the only person who got stuck behind these idiots! Great mock!
Not me Lucas, my wife lets me carry cash.
Damned Lottery players really piss me off as well:
Buy a scratch-off, scratch it, then ask for another. All the while simultaenously scratching hairy, linty, candy and tobacco residue covered coins off the bottom of a purse to see how many they can buy.
Then they hit a $5 and ask for a pack of “Big Montana Manly Brand full flavor deluxe light menthol gold 100s” and have to verbally walk the baggy clothed zit-meister behind the counter through finding the damn things!!
Sam Kinison Voice –> AAAAAAAAAA!!!! AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
They cursed us. Murderer they called us. They cursed us, and drove us away. And we wept, My Precious Scratch offs, we wept to be so alone. And we only wish to catch fish so juicy sweet. And we forgot the taste of bread… the sound of trees… the softness of the wind. We even forgot our own name. My Precious Scratch offs.
Oh man! Preach on, preach on!
It always kills me when, in line behind a Scratch-Off junkie, he/she goes through the selection process. It’s like he/she is attempting to divine the winning tickets via mental telepathy. While I wait to buy my smokes. And after the process is complete, there is always “Oh yeah, and two..”
Excellent mock. Scratch-Off junkies – you suck.
Worked in a convenience store. Lunchtime we weren’t even allowed to answer the phone because we were so busy. Every day a little old lady who stuttered brought in a handful of scratch offs and had to cash them in right then. Then she had to pick out her next batch, and as often as she was in the store and she knew what we had, we would have to read off the names of the games so she could decide. And company policy would not allow us to ask her to step aside so we could wait on customers on 1/2 hour lunch breaks. Pissed off people behind the counter and behind her.
I would take some convincing that culling all lottery buyers wouldn’t be a net benefit to society.
As a so-called “scratch it junkie” I at least have the common courtesy to cash in 4 tickets max, and this is only when the parking lot is empty. I know exactly how much I am cashing in and I have a game plan as to which ones I’m going to get next (usually 5 of one and 5 of another. No muss no fuss). The clerk is usually the one taking their sweet time, having trouble with the simple addition of 2+9+15+3 (29). No diss on the cashiers, mind you, but it happens a lot. We are not all inconsiderate jerks. So please STFU.
I know I’m late but…
@Laura, those machines add up the total winnings, so whether or not the cashier can add should be non issue. LoL There ARE many people who will hand me a stack of tickets to check, because they’re not sure if they’ve won. This is irritating, especially when a line collects out the door behind them. This article was probably not meant to be a dig at you, as you seem to be one of the ‘better’ scratchers players.
All in all, I find this to be an accurate mocking.
I love how I can clearly ask, “Can I get you anything else?” and be told, “No.” We will complete the transaction, I will say, “Thank you! Have a great day!” only to be answered with, “And can I get two Wild 8s and a Triple Douche?” (PS: That game is called Triple Dough… Apparently the text on the ticket is illegible.)
I have been told by several regular lottery players that they spend between 5 and 10 k per year on scratchers. They make a little back, of course, but I know for a fact that they do NOT win the big prizes. IMHO, this is money poorly spent… I see bigger winnings regularly from Pick 3, Pick 4, and Keno, so if you absolutely must play, play those. Fill out a playsheet, keep it so you can just hand it to the cashier. In and out the door before the author jerkies your behind.