Oregonian opportunist obliterates my legitimate lottery luck!

By James J. Devine

I was counting on that money.

Once again, the universe has conspired to thwart my grandiose plans of sipping champagne on a yacht in the Bahamas while solving several of the world’s most urgent problems.

After three months without a winner, the fateful Saturday drawing of the Powerball jackpot, a staggering $1.326 billion, has been won.

But alas, not by me. Oh, the bitter irony of it all! The winning ticket, adorned with the magical numbers, was not nestled snugly in my wallet.

Instead, it found its home in the pocket of some fortunate soul who probably couldn’t even spell “lottery” correctly until yesterday. As I sit here, contemplating the cruel hand of fate, I can’t help but feel a tinge of resentment towards the cosmos.

How could the stars bestow such wealth upon someone who lacks the refined taste and impeccable luck I possess? And to add insult to injury, the winning ticket was sold more than 2900 miles away from my customary place of Powerball purchases.

Yes, dear reader, you heard it right. The Plaid Pantry at 6060 NE Columbia Boulevard in Portland, Oregon, is the birthplace of someone else’s destiny.

Oh, the audacity! The sheer nerve of the universe to deny me my rightful fortune and instead bestow it upon a stranger who probably couldn’t even locate their state on a map without the aid of GPS.

I know what you’re thinking. “But surely, the winner must have played the lottery, and it’s only fair that they reap the rewards of their investment.”

Fair? Ha! Where is the justice in a world where blind chance dictates the distribution of my wealth?

Surely, with my meticulously chosen numbers and unwavering dedication to the art of gambling, I should be the victor showered in cash.

But alas, reality has once again shattered my dreams like a delicate vase in the hands of a clumsy oaf. I had a dollar. I have a dream. Where are my winnings? In Oregon, where lottery officials are diligently working with the fortunate ticket holder who, on Monday, emerged from the shadows to claim what is rightfully my prize.

Security measures and vetting processes—all mere obstacles standing between me and my rightful reward— along with the minor detail that I selected different numbers.

For some previous lottery winners, claiming the jackpot didn’t change their lives for the better.

A former landlady successfully sued William “Bud” Post for a third of his $16.2 million in winnings from the Pennsylvania lottery in 1988, and his brother tried to hire a contract murderer to kill him in the hopes he’d inherit the balance of the winnings. Post was sent to prison for firing a shotgun at a man who tried to collect a debt, went bankrupt, and died broke living on a $450-per-month disability check.

“This is an unprecedented jackpot win for Oregon Lottery,” exclaimed Oregon Lottery Director Mike Wells.

Unprecedented indeed! Never before has there been such a blatant disregard for the cosmic hierarchy of luck.

And let us not forget the unsuspecting accomplice in this grand heist of fate — the Plaid Pantry itself. With a bonus of $100,000 for selling the jackpot winner, they revel in their newfound notoriety.

“Congratulations to our lucky customer from our over 700 Plaid associates!” exclaimed Plaid Pantry President and CEO Jonathan Polonsky. Oh, how I envy their jubilation!

Though the jackpot may elude me for now, I shall persevere.

With each new drawing, I shall cast my lot once more, hoping against hope that one day, the stars will align in my favor. I have another dollar. I have the same dream. And I certainly have the delusion that so many others share about solving all our problems with a scheme that relies on odds worse than 300 million to one.

And when that day comes, oh how sweet victory shall taste!

Until then, I curse the heavens for their cruel jest. For in the game of luck, there are no rules, no guarantees — only the tantalizing allure of what might have been.

But fear not, dear reader, for this is not the end of this tale. As the song by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers tells us, Baby, even the losers get lucky sometimes.

.