Joe didn’t usually react so rashly. His dad had always taught him to respond rather than react. Quitting on the spot wasn’t what he had planned, and it was a stupid thing to do, but it sure felt good.
He drove back home, too scared to be excited. He’d have to call the number on the back of his ticket and claim his winnings today. He didn’t have much in savings and he had no other leads.
He got home and put some coffee on. He pulled out his lottery ticket. After staring at it a moment in disbelief, he flipped it over and saw the number to call.
After navigating the automated menu and a grumpy receptionist, he was transferred to the claims department. Another grumpy lady answered.
“Hi, Ma’am. I think I have the winning ticket.”
“Well, lucky you. What’s the number?”
“4, 8, 15, 16, 23 and 42”.
“Is this some kind of a joke?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am - what do you mean?”
“Those numbers are from last week’s drawing. Sir, fraudulently claiming lottery winnings is a crime. I should have you reported!”
As the dial tone sounded in his ear, realization dawned. The game he had watched wasn’t live - he had recorded it on his Tivo.
Now he wasn’t rich and he had no job.
Just perfect.
When was the last time you felt like a schmuck?
.
