Lottery Tales: Inside the Inner Sanctum

I don't know the appointment times of the other two winners inside the state lottery office. Since that gal complained that everybody was showing up early, I assume they could only have been 9:50, or later than our 10:00 appointment. As I mentioned, appointments are every 10 minutes, and we got there at 9:45.

I was going to make this title: A Hick, an Indian, and a Black Guy Walk Into a Lottery Office. But I figured that would offend some people. I don't describe people out of malice, but only because I try to set the scene in my tales. In this case, showing that it's not just Missouri rednecks who play the lottery.

The Indian Guy (Asian, not Native American), was not talkative. He kept to himself, filling out his forms, then waiting for his turn. The Black Guy was more vocal. He looked at a blown-up ticket on the wall, and said, "Look at that! Wouldn't that be great to win?" It was a $50 ticket, and the win was $1,000,000. There was a 500X multiplier, for a $2000 prize.

Hick said, "I know the guy that sold that ticket!"

I figured Hick was just talking out his rumpus as usual. But I asked the guy's name, and Hick told me the name of his store. Which was listed on the ticket info on the wall. So I guess he really DID know the guy.

Anyhoo... Black Guy said he had won $15,000 on a $5 crossword ticket. I play those every day!!! But the highest I've won is $100. He said he scratched off the top puzzle, and won nothing. He was disgusted, and tossed that ticket onto his "losers" pile. Then at the end, he took it back and scratched off the bottom puzzle. He was shocked that he had a multiplier that made his win $15,000. 

What makes that story worse for me is that Black Guy got his ticket in a town near where Hick used to work, halfway between the lottery office and Backroads. Dang it! I was happy for his win. But I see a nearby big win as a sign that I'm probably not going to get a big win on that ticket.

Anyhoo... we left while wishing each other luck in the future. I'm always happy when somebody wins big, even it it isn't me.

Lottery Tales: The Payout

Wednesday, Hick drove me to the St. Louis lottery office to cash in my two scratcher winners of $1000 each that have been languishing in (one of) our safes. I've been meaning to get around to it. Really. There didn't seem like a good time, what with Hick's busy schedule of flip houses and Senior Center lunches and Storage Unit Store business and medical appointments.

One was from May 20, 2023. That game ended last fall, but you have six months from the end date to cash in a winner. It was only good until May this year! I knew that all along. The other was from Feb 12, 2024. So it still has a while to go, but better to get both done on the same trip.

Here's the thing. Stores can only cash a ticket up to $600. Anything higher must be taken or mailed to one of the four lottery offices in Missouri. They are in Jefferson City, Kansas City, Springfield, and St. Louis. It takes us 1:20 to get to the St. Louis office. We've been there before, in the days before THE VIRUS. That's when office procedures changed. I guess it was an excuse never to change back to the old ways. Which is kind of what I'd been waiting for.

Used to be, you could walk in and cash your ticket with the "teller." Occasionally, there was another person there. It's a small office in an industrial park. Two tellers. A little waiting area with counters on two walls, a lottery machine (of course!), and three chairs. There are also single-person restrooms down a little hall. One for men, one for women. Though I suppose anything in-between could use one of their choosing, since the bathrooms are singe-occupancy.

Anyhoo... now tickets are redeemed by appointment only. It's easy enough to go online and schedule. They have appointments every 10 minutes, from 8:00 until 5:00, with an hour off for lunch. However, not every winner lives just down the street from a lottery office. Traffic is unpredictable. So you allow time to get there early. And wonder what will happen if you arrive after your appointment.

There were big signs on the glass double doors, telling you that they would CALL YOU when they were ready for you. Call you? Like, on your phone? Or once you're inside? The instructions were not clear. We got there at 9:45. Hick said surely they would let us in. He wanted that bathroom. And so did I. We watched a person walk up and go in. Then another. So Hick said the doors were not locked.

Well. They WERE locked. A woman's voice out of the wall asked if we had an appointment. Hick said yes, at 10:00. The woman's voice seemed a bit peeved. "EVERYBODY'S coming early today!" Okay, Goldilocks. Can you predict traffic? Would you rather have people late? Because I can't imagine a world where every person for those 48 appointments through the day would step up to the door on the stroke of their scheduled time.

I said to the wall box, "We just want to come in and use the bathroom. Then we'll come back out! And wait until our appointment time."

Goldilocks asked our name, and then said, "Well, you can come on in and use the bathroom, then come to the counter." She buzzed the door to let us in.

Goldilocks was the only teller working. In the past, there have been two. But the other window was vacant. The tellers sit behind a bullet-proof window, with a little metal trough to slide in your paperwork and ID. 

I had our paperwork done, except I didn't know Hick needed one as well, since we each claim half of the prize. We've done that before, but I guess I'd filled one out for him then, and forgot. Anyhoo... I took the form she gave me over to the counter, and it was done in two minutes. Just name, address, SS #, phone number, amount of prize, and how many claiming it. Imagine an office pool where 20 people (or more) have to fill out their form!

Goldilocks was perfectly polite after her initial tizzy over us being early. We were out of there at 10:00, with our four checks for $500 each. 

There is no mandatory tax withholding for amounts under $600.01. So our wins were treated like a $500 prize that a store could redeem, and just hand you the cash. So Hick and I each got a $500 check for each of the two tickets. It gets reported as "other income" at tax time. If the prize was more, they automatically take out the state and federal taxes, and give you a 1099G form to not-lose by next year's tax time. They don't mail you one in January.

Anyhoo... now THAT'S done! And I'm not going to complain if I win $1000 tomorrow.

Hick Calls It Black Light Bingo

I think it should be called BINGLOW!

Anyhoo... Hick said that on Tuesday, the Senior Center was going to the public library to play Black Light Bingo. It's half a block up the street, and one block down from the Senior Center. I asked Hick if they were expected to walk.

"I don't know. But I'm driving."

Heh, heh. The parking there probably put him farther away than just walking from the Senior Center. There's no parking lot. It used to be the building where I worked at the unemployment office. That parking lot has been taken over by the main post office, which is just behind it.

Anyhoo... Hick sent me a picture of the event:

Oh, look! Everyone is so happy!

Anyhoo... I asked Hick if he won a "price."

"Yeah. We had the choice of a book or a snack."

Heh, heh. I'm sure you already know what Hick chose! It was an individual pack of Oreos. By the time I found out, Hick had already eaten them.

Hick also went to play bar bingo later that evening. Didn't win a thing there. But I'm sure you knew that, too.

Val, the RumpusHole Magnet

Here we go again! One day shy of a week since my previous rumpushole line-cutter, I suffered the same indignity AGAIN! At the same store! Only this time no beeper cart was involved.

Like before, there was one line open, and it was backed up. Like before, I had only a few items, all in the child seat portion of my cart/walker. Some deli fried chicken for my supper (Hick was at an auction), a bottle of The Pony's favorite rum (you never know when they'll run out), and Little Debbie Zebra Cakes for Hick. Like before, there was no Diet Mountain Dew in the three displays where other Mountain Dews were located and advertised on sale.

On my way to the register, I had to walk through a family reunion. A 30-something dude carrying two cases of bottled water, an adult daughter, and a toothless, somewhat confused mom. They had an overflowing cart parked in the middle of the main aisle. The Daughter was questioning Mom about what else she wanted. Sonny seemed impatient. But he WAS holding two cases of bottled water.

I went past them and got in line. A gal with few items was ahead of me, and a woman with a stacked-up cart full of groceries was ahead of her. And someone just paying. After a few minutes, a young gal walked out and said she could help somebody. Opened up a register two lanes over. 

By this time the family was behind me. Mom and Sonny pulled out of my line, and went to the new one. Since my line didn't even have the piled cart unloaded yet onto the conveyor, I moved over to the new line. Mom was in the way, standing behind the cart, while Sonny tried to reach items and put them on the conveyor. He finally pushed the cart forward, told Mom to step into the cashier-place of the register next to our line, then pulled the cart back so she could go ahead. Then he could reach the items to set them out.

I leaned on my cart/walker, resigned to the fact that this was going to take a while. Another gal was in line behind me now. As I was daydreaming about being finished, I felt a rub on my rumpus. Well! I at least expected an "excuse me." But then Daughter whipped around my right side, and said,

"I need to get up here with my mom."

She proceeded to get in front of me, and put a box of individual Oreo Puddings, a tub of margarine, and two boxes of crackers on the conveyor. Then she told the checker, "Tell us when it gets close to $250."

I'm not sure why they couldn't have continued their chatfest while Daughter went to get those last items, then got in line with all their groceries. I'm not even sure if all that was for Mom, since they paid for part of it separately.

Even more frustrating, Sonny was a rumpushole all his own. He wormed his way around to the end to put bags back in the cart. All the while complaining that the checker didn't do it! Daughter told the checker to ignore him, while telling Sonny that yes, they DID bag the items, but he had to put them in the cart. It's not like the checker could reach everything over the counter, or make a trip down to the end with every bag.

Sonny kept running his mouth. "Yeah. You all are REALLY working hard." Checker asked if he wanted the two gallon jugs of vinegar in a bag, and he said, "I always want my groceries in a bag." So Checker double-bagged the first one, and walked down to put it in the cart.

When they reached the $250 milestone, Mom had trouble using her card. It finally worked. Then Daughter paid for the remaining items with cash.

I don't know why I even bother to get in a line there. I might as well stand aside until nobody is waiting. Since they all feel entitled to go ahead of me anyway...

How Do You Like THAT Green-Apple?

Once again, Val sits atop her high horse, looking down her nose, askance, at a rumpushole who seems to think he's entitled to park in a handicap space with no documentation.

Yes, Val's nostrils are flaring in that rarefied air, her knees throbbing, her head about to explode, at the thought of an able-bodied person usurping her rightful parking space.

Granted, I was in the handicap space next to that one. But by the time I finished picture-taking to shame a rumpushole, the 10Box employees had added a string of carts in that striped space, that extended to the last white line of that area. I had to walk around them to get to the door. What's the advantage of a handicap space if it makes you walk extra steps?

Anyhoo, on my way around the rear of that motorcycle, I saw that it did not have a handicap license plate. Is that a thing? Can you get a handicap plate or placard for a motorcycle? This one had neither. 

Let the record show, I did not see anybody ride a beeper cart out those doors while I was standing at the lottery machines. Yet the motorcycle was gone when I left.

Is that a thing? Do handicapped people ride motorcycles? And if so, shouldn't they be held to the same regulations as car-drivers? I'm not saying that rider might not have COPD, or a heart issue. But surely the same placard or license plate rules should apply.

Otherwise, it's just another rumpushole in Val's elevated high-horse eyes.

They're Multiplying

I mentioned a few weeks ago how Hick was astounded that the "business" behind the Gas Station Chicken Store was letting pallets pile up. Of course he wanted to get some of them for his themed-shed-building needs. But he was reluctant to ask about those pallets. I still haven't gotten to the root of that issue.

Anyhoo... on Saturday, I noticed that not only were those pallets still there, but they seemed to be multiplying!

Definitely the same pallets as before, plus more! A closer view reveals the extent of the accumulation.

Yet when I mentioned to Hick that there were even more pallets now, all he said was "FIRE HAZARD!" As if he would rather punish that business than ask about taking some of those pallets off their property.

I will have to investigate Hick's motive further.

Apparently, Parking Space Lines Are Just a Suggestion

Here we go again. The victimization of Val by a rumpushole who had no respect for a handicap parking space. This was on Wednesday at the Backroads Casey's. Let the record show that there is only one handicap parking space there. It is at the right end of the store. I parked T-Hoe with plenty of space left by the line denoting the parking space. I did not inconvenience anyone. There is no space to my right. I'm at the end.

Anyhoo... I went inside to cash in my scratchers and get more. Nobody was ahead of me. A quick exchange, and I was back out. EXCEPT... a rumpushole had parked in a space that wasn't even a space!

That is NOT a parking space! If I had parked T-Hoe without cheating over to allow door room, that rumpushole could not have squeezed his dented car in between. It may look like he's even closer to the other car, but that's just the angle of my photo.

Let the record show that T-Hoe's door has two notches for opening. ALL THE WAY, which allows Val's knees to bend enough to get in, and NOT FAR ENOUGH, which does not. This placement would not even have allowed the NOT FAR ENOUGH opening without hitting that rumpushole's car. The mirror is an added obstruction. Maybe if I was Slender Man with two good knees, I could have climbed  T-Hoe. I am neither.

I had to stand against the brick wall to wait for this rumpushole to complete his shopping and return. My knees do not like standing. I walked around to the passenger side to get my phone out of T-Hoe and take these pictures. Hobbling is more comfortable than standing.

As you can see, Val left enough room for T-Hoe's door to open fully within her parking space. Barring a 20-something rumpushole parking over the line into her rightful territory, because he didn't want to park in an actual space farther away from the door. Being entitled to park wherever he felt like it, you know.

I certainly hope Even Steven has access to the rumpushole's permanent record.