The Participation Badge
I think the first time I played the lottery I was around 26. At that age, you don’t think about lotteries that much. Life was fun, you had what you wanted and retirement was not something you gave much thought to.
I always said, then, that the only time I’ll buy a lottery ticket is when I walk into the convenience store and bells go off in my head.
And so one day when I lived on Pape and Danforth, I walked to my local convenience store to buy cigarettes (Players Extra Light Kings) and as I paid, I heard bells went off in my head. Something told me that I would win. So I bought Lotto 6/49 quick picks where the machine picks the numbers for you. You get six numbers per play and if you get all six numbers you win Freedom Forever.
So the next morning I picked up the newspaper and checked the lottery numbers (this was, of course, long before Internet). I couldn’t believe it. I got FOUR numbers. I rushed to the convenience store and handed my ticket. The clerk put it in the machine and sure enough the machine’s bells went off. I won. He handed me $93. OK, it wasn’t Freedom Forever. But it was maybe 10 packs of smokes.
I also bought another ticket. Why not? The next week as I checked my ticket, I couldn’t believe it. I got four numbers again. This was too easy! I rushed to the convenience store, what I now called “The Bank!”, and gave the clerk my ticket. He put it in the machine and----NO Bells went off. I “WTF’d” before that abbreviation was invented. I went home checked my ticket against the newspaper numbers again and saw my mistake. I had checked my 6/49 ticket against the Super 7 winning numbers, another lottery. Strange coincidence, surely, but no dice. I won nothing. Never. Ever Again.
The only other time I won, I remembered, was the Participation Badge in Grade 8. For those who don’t know what a Participation Badge is, let me explain. In elementary school in Ontario, possibly in Canada, maybe the rest of the world, they do, or did then, a standardized physical education testing program in gym class.
Participants, that is to say, all elementary students, did a series of physical tests (push ups, chin ups, sit ups, etc.) and depending on your age the government had a chart of how well you were supposed to do. If you exceeded the standardized results you got a Gold Medal (really a cheap, gold coloured ribbon). If you met the government’s lofty expectations you got silver. If you were close, but not quite fit enough, they gave you bronze.
If you were fat, ungainly, unathletic, bored or a sickly girl having her menarche and did poorly you were given a participation badge. A little white badge that meant that although you did lousy, you did participate. Everyone got one. Even the skinny, freckled girl who walked with a limp.
Even I got one. Though not fat or anything, I was never what one would call athletic. Thankfully I was only in the Canadian elementary school system for one year (I was placed in Grade 8 when I immigrated). And to my defence, though I suck at all things physical, I didn’t even know about the standardized tests and generally goofed off during the exercises. Not that I would have done well even if I did try, you understand.
But I was proud of my participation medal and immediately pinned it on my jacket. Not cool! This earned me the derision of all my peers. “You don’t pin that on your jacket. Everyone gets one. Even Jackie.” I looked over at Jackie, the girl on the wheelchair. Yes, even she had one.
Which brings me in a roundabout way, to the present.
I still don’t really buy lottery tickets anymore. At work I participate in a group lottery pool only because it would really suck if everyone at work won, except me. So I see my $5 weekly contribution as a tax of sorts.
But, once a year or so, I do buy a hospital lottery ticket. These fundraising draws are fairly expensive. Normally about $100 a ticket. But tickets are limited and you have a 1-in-3 or so chance in winning. Something.
Prizes normally include $1 million. A dream home. A vacation. A sports car. A huge flat screen. Big items like that. And maybe a few smaller things like a camera or a slow cooker.
I’ve never won. Despite these 1-in-3 chances. Until recently, that is.
I bought a ticket back in October for a March draw. A week ago I got an email saying “check to see if you won.” So I did. I checked and I won.
Guess what I won? Yes. A bloody slow cooker! Great. Wonderful. Want one?
To cap off my disappointment I saw that in fact I won 1 of 10,000 slow cookers. 10,000!
That’s a bit like a Participation Badge, isn’t it? I’m sure Jackie got one too.