The Lottery
by Howard Reeves
“Hello?”
“Congratulations,
Mr. Lambert, you’ve just won the lottery!”
“You’re
kidding.”
“No,
I’m not.”
“Oh, my
God! The lottery?”
“Yes, Mr.
Lambert, you are the winner of one million
dollars. How do you feel about that, sir?”
“Hold on,
my wife’s on the other phone. Honey? You’re
not gonna believe this—we won the lottery!”
“What
lottery?”
“Well,
I’m not sure.”
“Hello…
Mr. Lambert?”
“Hang
on—no, not you sweetheart, I’m
talkin’ to the guy on the other phone.”
“Well ask
him what lottery we won.”
“Hey,
Mister, what lottery did we win?”
“You have
won the Middle Minnesota Weekly Winner Lottery.
Congratulations to you and your family! What
do you plan to do with your winnings?”
“Um, I
don’t know—yet—hold on. Honey,
what’re we going to do with the money?”
“Are you
kidding? Between the taxes we’ll have to pay
and the fee the bank will charge to keep it,
we’ll probably blow it all in six months.”
“Mr.
Lambert, are you ready to accept your lottery
winnings?”
“Uh, yeah,
well, sure—maybe. Hold on. Hon, should we
just forget about it?”
“Are you
crazy?”
“But you
said—”
“Never
mind what I said.”
“Mr.
Lambert?”
“What?”
“Your
lottery winnings, sir, how would you like that
sent to you?”
“How do
you usually send it?”
“The
preferred method is direct deposit. What bank do
you use?”
“Uh, hold
on. Hello, hon? He wants to know the
name of our bank so they can send the money. Should
I tell him?”
“Is this
some kind of scam?”
“I
don’t know, it sounds kosher.”
“Hello? Mr.
Lambert?”
“I gotta
talk to him, honey—hold on. Hello,
Mister? How else can we get the money?”
“You can
pick it up at our office and get your photo taken
with your check.”
“Hang on. Honey,
do we want our picture taken with the check?”
“Yeah,
that’s all we need—people recognizing
us, stopping us on the street, telling us all
their sob stories. C’mon, get real.”
“Hello,
Mister?”
“Yes, Mr.
Lambert?”
“Okay, we
want the money, but we don’t want it sent to
our bank and we don’t want our picture taken
at your office. Any other options?”
“We can
Fed Ex it to you, if you prefer.”
“Wait a
sec. Honey, how about if they Fed Ex it to
us?”
“That’s
overnight, right?”
“I
guess—hold on. Mister, is that overnight?”
“We can
do that.”
“Yeah,
Hon, they can overnight it.”
“Wait a
minute, isn’t tomorrow the day we take the
kids to your mother’s?”
“Uh,
yeah—why?”
“Well, I
don’t want a check sitting outside our front
door while we’re gone.”
“Okay, so
what should I tell him?”
“What do
you think? He’s got to come up with
another way.”
“Hello,
Mister?”
“Yes, Mr.
Lambert?”
“Listen,
I don’t know how we’re going to do this. We
don’t want to go through the bank, and we
don’t want any publicity photos. And my
mother will make our lives miserable if she
doesn’t see the kids tomorrow. So why
don’t we just save a lot of grief and forget
the whole thing.”
“Good
choice, Mr. Lambert. With the economy in turmoil,
we really don’t have the money to give you
anyway. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
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