Maybe next jackpot

The MegaMillions has come and gone; our pool coordinator made no attempt to contact me last night and our showing out of 51 tickets was pretty miserable. But one in 375 million is always better odds than zero.

A story in this morning's paper told of the tears and rage let loose when the system crashed across Ohio close to drawing time. Why so many people wait until the last possible second to buy tickets mystifies me --- yes, the pot jumped from $350 million to $370 million, but if you won, would you notice? A half-dozen places within one mile of my apartment sell them; I spent all of 30 seconds in the story for two random tickets.

This rash of lottery fever tugs me back to 1984, just after my seventh birthday, during our typical August vacation in Connecticutt with my mom's family. Rather than let us stay at my grandparents's house, my mom dropped the three of us in the car and with my uncle in the passenger seat, drove across the border into New York, found the first convenience store and joined the line coiling around the store.

For at least an hour we sat while they stood waiting for tickets.

Nobody won that drawing, so when my Dad flew back and we climbed into the car, we didn't follow the same route as when we arrived. We went back to the convenience store, spending another 45 minutes loitering for 20 bucks in tickets. I don't know how well we did the second time around, but I can guess.

I rarely think about the lotto line, though I often recall what happened next. Our yellow 1979 Ford LTD, weighted down with three children and an axle-straining load of Connecticutt garage sale loot, leaving behind our annual summer vacation spot by crossing the landmark which always signified its end: The George Washington Bridge. Mom said, "Say goodbye to New York," as Cindy Lauper's "Time after Time" played on the radio.

With glance at distant Manhattan and the bridge's towers slowly dipping out of sight, I don't know if music ever synced up so perfectly by accident.

I still can't think of that song without picturing that day.

The snaking lotto line, however, is better forgotten.