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Doug Clark: I’m descending deeper into Powerball delusion
The 4 Stages of Powerball Mania.
LEMMING STAGE – “This where the line ends?” asks a middle-aged woman who smiles knowingly as she walks up to where I’m standing in the South Hill Safeway store.
I mumble yes and look at my feet.
I’m not unsociable, just embarrassed to be seen waiting in line to buy into the latest version of the world’s largest Powerball jackpot.
It just seems, I don’t know, so desperate.
I rarely buy lottery tickets. But like every other American citizen, I’ve been seduced by Powerball hype and hoo-haw.
Had two tickets for last Saturday’s drawing for the $930 million nobody won. That provoked another frenzy of ticket-buying that is pushing the prize to Trump-sized ego proportions.
Can’t quit now.
The guy ahead of me forks over some cash for a fistful of tickets and what looks like two bags of dry noodles.
My turn. “I’ll, um, take six,” I tell the cashier who appropriates my legal tender and does something to make a machine spit out a half-dozen flimsy slips of paper that contain computer-generated numbers.
If this becomes a habit I’ll be dining on dry noodles, too.
LUSTFUL STAGE – Did you know the first Gibson Master Museum SJ-200 acoustic guitar is up for sale?
Yes. And it can be mine for a $59,999 “Buy it Now” price. There was a time I would’ve choked at such a price for any guitar not played by Jimi Hendrix.
But now? Sixty grand is Powerball peanuts.
After the Wednesday night drawing goes my way I’ll be buying enough rare guitars to stock my own twang museum.
Always wanted a Patek Philippe watch, too. Solid gold, naturally, but anything over $100,000 would be ostentatious.
As long as I’m in a Swiss mood, a chalet near the Matterhorn would be cool.
Probably need a Land Rover or an Aston Martin to get around and a private jet to take the family there when the getaway mood strikes my fancy.
Why not enjoy the finer things when you can afford them?
A personal trainer. A live-in chef.
Or a hair transplant.
Although considering the state of surrender my hairline is in, my lovely wife, Sherry, says I’ll need more of “a scalp transplant.”
ZUCKERBERGIAN STAGE – Don’t be greedy, I tell myself.
I have no proof, but it seems like drawing attention to all the crap I’m going to buy with my lottery haul could be bad karma.
Better to brag about all the grand benevolent things I say I’ll do for the planet. You know, like that Facebook dude who supposedly plans to give away 99.9 percent of his vast riches.
So here goes. Once I win the Powerball, I’ll …
Oops. Scratch the last one. No lottery’s big enough to cover that job.
DELUSIONAL STAGE – When you think about it, there’s really no good reason why I can’t nail this thing.
OK. Odds of matching all six numbers are roughly 292 million-to-one, or Dr. Ben Carson winning the next “Survivor.”
And yet …
You can’t win if you don’t play.
Those words have become my good luck mantra against every hater and cynic who says I’ve no chance, that the lottery’s strictly for suckers and boneheads who should know better.
Oh, yeah?
Well, just you wait and see. Just you wait and …
Doug Clark is a columnist for The Spokesman-Review. He can be reached at (509) 459-5432 or dougc@spokesman.com.