Dumpster Diving Don

I had to get into the garbage bin in my apartment complex today.
   This was not a pleasure cruise, I had serious business. Vital business. The kind of crucial business that would make me jump into a dumpster filled with other people's leavings.
   I went down into the garage and emulated what I'd witnessed the garbage man do before. You see, you have to really put your back into it to move those things around, even though they're on wheels. They're heavy enough by themselves, but when you put a couple hundred pounds of...
   I'm sorry? What's that? What was so important that I had to crawl into the dumpster in the first place? Yeah, um... that's... uh... classified. Sure. Classified.
   So once I got the dumpster out of the little tiny space they keep it in, I pulled myself into it, right over the side like I'd been doing it all my life. Even landed on my feet. I made sure I was wearing nothing new, nothing that I wouldn't mind just leaving there in the dumpster if I needed to.
   Okay, you, with the hand raised, looks like you have something on your mind. What do you mean I didn't answer the question? Of course I did. I was in the dumpster on vital, classified business. Meaning, Mr. Smarty-Pants, that if told you what I was doing in there I would be in violation of all sorts of national security stuff. Secret clearance, all that.
   Excuse me? Yes, well... okay, you're right, my clearance did expire something like five years ago, but... I'm still bound by... there are some things that civilians... Okay. Fine.
   I was in the dumpster retrieving Lotto tickets for tonight that I'd accidentally thrown out this morning.
   There. Are you happy?
   What's so funny? Huh? Bet you'll all feel like chumps when I win a million bucks tonight. That'll make dealing with the garbage juice worth it.

M&Ms, Lotto, and Pot

A while back - a long while back, if you want me to be honest - I knew a guy who was living beneath his station. We were both waiters, so the bar wasn't set very high to begin with, but Jimmy had ducked under. While I was still living with Mom and Dad, Jimmy was living with Dave and Heidi. Dave and Heidi like their pot, and Jimmy REALLY liked his pot. A lot. An awful lot, if you know what I mean. I envied Jimmy the simplicity of his existence. Get up, go to work, finish work, come home, spark a J, and fade off into oblivion. Next day, repeat as before. No real decisions to make, no real responsibility aside from his account with his dope man.
   Jimmy lived on three things: M&Ms, his daily ration of pot, and the absolute certainty that the next time around he was going to win the Lotto. I'm not saying that he was really, really hopeful that he would win, he KNEW the next jackpot was his. Every time. It was an amazing display of both hope and delusion, with perhaps a bit of desperation mixed in.
   He never won. Not once. From time to time he'd hit a few numbers and get a buck or two back, maybe win five or ten bucks once in a great while. But that didn't stop him from going back over and over and over again, each time secure in the belief that his luck would turn and he would end up the next easy millionaire.
   And I wondered about this. Was he being foolish or was he being hopeful? Was there a difference between the two?
   His situation was desperate, he rented a small room in a tiny house in a pretty crappy neighborhood. He worked as a waiter and had no formal education beyond a high school diploma. He had no girlfriend, and his prospects for improving his lot in life were dim. He was obviously hoping to shortcut the entire process with a big-ticket Lotto win, but he also just as obviously needed something to look forward to, some aspiration to hold onto to distract him from the harsh reality of the shambles his life had become.
   He wasn't so different than everyone else. Each of us may have a much better situation, more money, more friends, love, a good job. But there is always something missing, something more we feel we could be doing, something better just out of reach. There's always a lotto ticket we think we could buy to instantly erase everything we don't like and make it all just the way we wish it were. But we know in our hearts that nobody really wins the Lotto, not people like you and me.
   But people do win. Every day. So I'm thinking I need to be a little more like Jimmy, a little more hopeful, a little more optimistic. A little less stoned, obviously, and a little more driven to make the change I want, rather than just wait for it to happen by itself.
   Now, where's my bag of M&Ms?

Tell My Shame

I have this thing wearing on my conscience, a personal failing that I've hidden for days now. It's always there, lurking in the darkness, my own Telltale Heart that's slowly driving me mad. I have to come clean before it becomes the end of me.
   I bought a copy of 'O' magazine.
   I'll give you a moment to pick yourself up off the floor. Yes, I did it, I have no one else to blame. I didn't even try to get someone else to buy it for me, like a teenager begging beer at the convenience store, I walked right up to the Vroman's magazine rack, put my hands on the Christmas issue of 'O' magazine, and surrendered my five bucks. And then I took it home.
   Why? Why would I have anything Oprah related in my house? For the chance to win free stuff from Ellen.
   Okay, hold on, let's back up. I'm digging myself deeper here. See, Ellen has her 12 Days of Giveaways, and, in grand Oprah fashion, is buying the loyalty of her audience with loot. And if you buy an 'O' magazine and read it to find the code to enter online, you can be one of the people who wins said loot without being in the studio audience.
   How do I know this?
   Oh boy... all right, here's what happened. See, I was in my apartment, minding my own business, flipping through the channels. The TV seemed to tune itself to Ellen and then there was a tiny micro-earthquake - centered on my living room - that knocked a bookcase over. I was stuck under hundreds of pounds of books, the remote just out of reach, and I was forced to watch an entire hour of Ellen before I could find the strength to dig myself out.
   Yeah, that's what happened... All right, I'm gonna stop now. Nothing to see here, just move along.

Sounds Logical

I was in Texas last weekend, enjoying good Mexican food and remembering what it was like to sweat through my shirt after 30 seconds outside. Good times, good times. I went with my sister to pick up one of my nieces from a summer camp in the Texas Hill Country, and I hit on a stroke of genius. I've detailed the syllogism below:

   Major premise: Everybody knows that Lottery winners never come from a big city. The winning lotto tickets are always purchased in a small town.
   Minor premise: We were going to drive through a small town, Center Point, with a population of around 2,000 people.
   Conclusion: If I buy my Texas Lotto tickets in Center Point, I will be assured a win in the next drawing.

Just read that out loud to yourself; it's a thing of beauty. The logic is unassailable, it's all there in black and white. Because I bought my Texas Lotto tickets in a tiny town my win and millionaire status are foregone conclusions, right? If there is any justice in the world I should be writing this from the fantail of my own luxury yacht while my monkey butlers cater to my every whim.
   I didn't win a damned thing. Not even one lousy buck.
   Stupid laws of probability...