Isn't it ironic? Don't ya think?
I don't know why I even play. It's not like I would ever win. People like me do not win the lottery. Hard working people do not win. People with two to three jobs do not win either. People who don't need it win the lottery. People who live in trailers then give it away to friends and go bankrupt before they even get all the money win the lottery. Not you. Not me. Them. They win.
Steve and I only play when the jackpot is high because we're broke and wasting five bucks twice a week on a useless piece of paper is just plain dumb. If I had more money I guess it would make sense but not really. If I had more money I would buy furniture that matches not lotto tickets.
It's up to 120 million. That's a nice chunk of change. We have to play. When we're on the way to pick up some grub before American Idol, we swing by the 1 Stop on Larkfield. After walking in and being smacked in the face by the terrible BO emanating from the employees behind the counter, I decide the disgusting odor will keep me from ever coming back here again. But since I'm here, I'll get 7 bucks worth of tickets.
He holds up his fingers indicating he needs ID. I'm guessing this means ID because the dude can't speak English, plus he's not printing out tickets so that's universal for, "let me see ID."
Now, I don't mind being IDed for beer at a chain restaurant, it's understandable. They have to ask and sometimes I can still be considered "college age". But if I can't buy lotto, that makes me 17.
This is borderline offensive.
Women are arguing with me today saying this is a compliment. I should be flattered. Well, I'm not. I'm not at all. Because I remember me at 17. I remember the snot nose little pricks I went to school with at 17. I see 17 year olds in the mall all the time. Teenagers suck. It is not a compliment to be considered still in high school.
I look at the guy incredulously. And then I talk to him as if he can understand me. "Are you serious? I'm closer to 30 than I am to 20." I look down at my jacket. It's my CU hockey warm up with a nice big college logo across my left boob. In order to get to college you need to be over 17, unless I'm a child prodigy and taking one look at me is easy to discern that I'm not.
The worst part is the fact I have to go out to the car and ask Steve for my ID. I know he's going to make fun of me. That's the embarrassing part. That and the fact the creepy guy currently buying tickets is looking me up and down like I'm fresh meat. I consider checking him into the magazine rack.
I do not give Steve enough time to get a word in and retreat back into the men's locker room for my losing tickets.
And I always thought I liked being "17".
Steve and I only play when the jackpot is high because we're broke and wasting five bucks twice a week on a useless piece of paper is just plain dumb. If I had more money I guess it would make sense but not really. If I had more money I would buy furniture that matches not lotto tickets.
It's up to 120 million. That's a nice chunk of change. We have to play. When we're on the way to pick up some grub before American Idol, we swing by the 1 Stop on Larkfield. After walking in and being smacked in the face by the terrible BO emanating from the employees behind the counter, I decide the disgusting odor will keep me from ever coming back here again. But since I'm here, I'll get 7 bucks worth of tickets.
He holds up his fingers indicating he needs ID. I'm guessing this means ID because the dude can't speak English, plus he's not printing out tickets so that's universal for, "let me see ID."
Now, I don't mind being IDed for beer at a chain restaurant, it's understandable. They have to ask and sometimes I can still be considered "college age". But if I can't buy lotto, that makes me 17.
This is borderline offensive.
Women are arguing with me today saying this is a compliment. I should be flattered. Well, I'm not. I'm not at all. Because I remember me at 17. I remember the snot nose little pricks I went to school with at 17. I see 17 year olds in the mall all the time. Teenagers suck. It is not a compliment to be considered still in high school.
I look at the guy incredulously. And then I talk to him as if he can understand me. "Are you serious? I'm closer to 30 than I am to 20." I look down at my jacket. It's my CU hockey warm up with a nice big college logo across my left boob. In order to get to college you need to be over 17, unless I'm a child prodigy and taking one look at me is easy to discern that I'm not.
The worst part is the fact I have to go out to the car and ask Steve for my ID. I know he's going to make fun of me. That's the embarrassing part. That and the fact the creepy guy currently buying tickets is looking me up and down like I'm fresh meat. I consider checking him into the magazine rack.
I do not give Steve enough time to get a word in and retreat back into the men's locker room for my losing tickets.
And I always thought I liked being "17".