Lottery Ticket (standard:humor, 2735 words)
Author: kidmercury	Added: Mar 30 2005	Views/Reads: 3270/2064	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A hero's undying quest to do the unthinkable: get a date.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Months passed. My goal was still unaccomplished. I simply could not
understand it: I was smart. I was funny. I was a witty 
conversationalist. I had made myself a well-rounded individual, while 
also succeeding at academics. What was the problem? 

"Man, I don't know, but it really sucks to be you." 

Donnie, while he was my consultant on the issue, never skipped an
opportunity to exploit the inherent humor in my predicament. "You need 
to wipe the cobwebs off Mr. Happy and put that son of a bitch to use 
'fore he forgets what he's here for." 

"Yeah." What was I supposed to say? 

"Well, I gots to jet. I got a hot date with some chick I met outside of
McDonald's. Fucking hot, man. Fucking hot. Looks like a slut, so I 
think I'll come home with a smile on my face tomorrow." 

"And an STD." I hope he gets gonorrhea. Motherfucker. 

Donnie smiled. He looked down at his crotch. "Are you ready, Mr. Happy?"
He left my apartment, and went on his way. 

Just to clarify, I have been laid. It just hasn't happened in the last
four years. I even had a girlfriend once; now that I think about it, 
she was a pretty good catch. Definitely not the hottest or prettiest of 
girls, but she was skinny and tall, making her somewhat desirable in 
the conventional male sense of the word. She also could play piano, 
another bonus. But that was years ago, when I was young and my heart 
was an open book. The truth is that I was quite confused at the time; I 
eventually lost all emotions for her, and I saw college as an 
opportunity to be born anew. But at this point, I'm starting to think 
that not every new beginning is worth ending the beginning from which 
it was born. 

"Dude, man, the McDonald's chick was a good fucking lay," said Donnie
immediately before submerging his lips into the clear, red bong. He 
exhaled a long chamber of smoke and passed the bong to me. "Sweet body. 
34C man, 34C. That's what I'm talkin' about. I'm supposed to go out 
with her again on Saturday." 

Great. 

"Man, I think you just need to be friendlier," he said, sensing that I
was more concerned with my sexual inactivity than his animalistic 
rendezvous with the McDonald's woman. "You're always walking around 
with a mean look on your face. Ain't nobody gonna fuck you like that. 
Just smile and be friendlier." 

"You think I walk around with a mean look on my face?" I'd been told
that before. 

"Yeah. You also don't get out enough, man. Super Nintendo in your
apartment ain't gonna get you a piece of the action. Get out. Go to 
bars or something. Socialize. At least try, man." 

Perhaps Gonorrhea Boy had a point. Relaxing in solitude, soothing as it
may be, was not going to satisfy Mr. Happy in any way. 

"Like you should really just try for some bitch, you know. Set a goal.
Like, 'I will get this girl in my pants by next week.' You gotta 
approach this whole thing with some tenacity. This whole picnic in the 
park approach ain't gonna do shit for you, man." 

"I been tryin' in some ways, though," I said, trying to redeem myself."I
mean, I think I'm a pretty good catch. I'm smart, funny, I got some 
skills I can show off with, I dress well...I spent a lot of money on 
just improving myself so I can get laid." 

Total dollar spent trying to get laid up to this point: $10,224.32. 

And that doesn't include the $44.00 late fee. 

Donnie sat there pensively, as cigarette ashes fell onto his dirty,
hole-ridden shirt. Suddenly, a light bulb flashed in his head: "You 
ever smoke around bitches?" 

"What?" 

"Weed. Or even drink around them. Or pills, man. Something to fuck with
their heads." 

I was getting the picture. A smile came across my face, as I envisioned
Donnie's future: exiting a courtroom, trying to hide his face from the 
cameras, after just being convicted for date rape. 

"Uh, I'm not exactly into committing any crimes, Donnie, if that's what
you had in mind." 

"Man, shut the fuck up. I ain't talkin' 'bout rapin' a bitch, you
fuckin' moron. I'm talkin' about makin' the atmosphere inviting. I'm 
telling you, man, you can't just waltz on in without doing some prep 
work. Where the fuck you been, dude?" 

In prison, I thought. I pondered his words, his ideas. They made sense. 

"Look. You got a fuckin' goal. Now go get it." And with that he opened
the door, sending me on my way. 

The next day I made some phone calls and placed an order for some drugs:
an eighth of marijuana, a case of beer, a couple of ecstasy pills, 
capped of with just a tad of psychedelic mushrooms. 

Total expenditure on drugs: $85.00. I would have bought more, but drug
dealers don't accept Visa. 

And then I saw her. 

Her: the woman that could change everything. She could make things
right, make things better. 

She was wearing an all black, skintight outfit when I saw her that day.
Her smile, effervescent and omnipresent, provided just the radiance I 
needed on this cold, winder day. All of her actions seemed elegant and 
beautiful; it was as if she did everything the way it was supposed to 
be done. She stood in the dining hall, placidly yet perfectly, waiting 
for her turn to scoop some delicious portions onto her plate. The 
eating utensils were already in position, as was the beverage (it was 
bottled water this time). A priceless picture. 

"Here's your chance." Donnie was in a supportive mood, and I appreciated
that. He hinted that I should make her my goal: "Be nice to tap that, 
wouldn't it?" Donnie's objectification of this divine creature was 
spoiling my vision of her. She was too good, I thought. Too good. 

"No she ain't, dude. Gotta shoot for the sky, man. You want to be
settlin' for second best?" Actually, at this point, I'd settle for 
anything. Perhaps I should approach this matter with some realism, not 
idealism. Perhaps I should target the ugly, imperfect, dismal women of 
this fine institution. They'd be excited some guy even talked to them. 

"It's your call, man. Do whatever the fuck you want. I still think it's
a bad idea, though. Gotta go for the gold. Who knows, maybe it's your 
lucky day." Or maybe not. The feeling that comes after failing – the 
one of being crushed, if not obliterated – was not something I desired 
at this point. I needed to do some homework, some investigative work on 
this girl. What if she had a boyfriend? No sense wasting my time on her 
then, right? I also needed to find out what kind of guy she liked, so 
as to present myself in such a fashion when making my sexual advance. 
"Whatever, dude. Sometimes you just gotta fuck all that shit and do 
it." Haste makes waste, Donnie. Haste makes waste. 

So for the next few weeks, I kept a close watch on her. Unfortunately,
she sensed my inquisitive behavior; she caught my stares and noticed my 
unshakeable presence lurking in the shadows of her environs. The 
stalking went without confrontation, though, so all was good. 

Overheard conversations informed me that she was single. They also
informed me of her desires: she wanted a man who was smart, funny, and 
mature, but also sensitive, loyal, and well-rounded. Maybe my 
investments were wise after all. Maybe. 

A sneaky peek in her room yielded other positive and valuable
information: she was born with the Sun in Virgo, much like myself. An 
abundance of marijuana-related paraphernalia also enabled me to 
intuitively reason that she was fond of engaging in one of collegiate 
America's favorite illicit activities: getting stoned. It came as no 
surprise, then, that the friends of my desire referred to her room 
as"The Green Factory." How cute. 

"You did some research? Is that what you did?" Donnie puffed on his
cigarette, laughing smoke rings between inhalations. "Fuckin' dork. So 
what'd you find?" 

I informed him of my findings. "Well then, what's the hold up? Why ain't
you in her face right now asking her out?" Good question, Donnie, good 
question. Courage was my shortcoming. I was always too cautious. What 
if she says no? What if she doesn't like me? What if she gets offended? 


Donnie shook his head as though he were dealing with a helpless child,
incapable of learning the simplest task. "You see this?" He pulled out 
a lottery ticket . "I buy one everyday. Yep, a dollar a day down the 
drain. Been buyin' 'em for the past three years." 

Donnie's expenditures on lottery tickets: $365 * 3 = $1,095. 

"You'd a thought by now I'd of given up. But I know you can't win less
you try. Same shit holds true for you." Donnie's words, as blunt and 
direct as they were, somehow managed to strike a chord within me: I was 
inspired by his directness, his ability to seize the moment and quickly 
take action. I decided it was time. Time for me to test myself, to see 
who I really was. I would ask her tonight. 

Preparation was my forte, and naturally I employed this tactic for my
big proposition. I visited Mario at the local barber shop. "Tonight's a 
big night. Give me something special." Always willing to satisfy a 
loyal customer, Mario took his time to trim my hair perfectly. 

Haircut: $15. Tip: $5. Quality service should always be rewarded well. 

I stopped by the local convenience store on the way back to my dorm
room. My purchases: a new razor, shaving gel, and aftershave. The razor 
was nice – one of those fancy schmancy triple blade gadgets – and the 
aftershave, although purchased from a convenience store, was more than 
adequate. 

Razor: $9.87. Shaving gel: $5.43. Aftershave: $7.34. 

I was contemplating purchasing her a gift. Would flowers be appropriate?
Donnie ruminated on my question before answering: "Yeah. But don't get 
a bouquet or anything like that. Just a nice flower. A single flower. 
Maybe a rose if you can find one." 

So I scoured the city high and low for a flower in the midst of
December. Finally, after an hour of searching, I found it: a single 
rose, delicate and beautiful. Just like her. 

Rose: $8.00. 

"Okay, you set now, man. No more fuckin' around. It's time to roll the
dice and play this lottery ." Donnie was right. So I quietly sat in my 
room, eating dinner in solitude. Vivaldi played in the background. Upon 
the conclusion of my meal, I dressed myself in a carefully selected 
outfit: a collared gray shirt, tailored perfectly to my slender body, 
atop dark blue jeans. My sleeves were rolled up – about a quarter inch 
before my elbow – and all but the top button were buttoned. As for 
accessories, I sported my stylishly conservative wristwatch and all 
black dress socks. And in regards to shoes, my previous girlfriend 
fortunately had not ended our relationship prior to giving me one 
valuable tidbit of information, something that came especially handy 
today: "Shoes can make or break an outfit. Guys just don't realize 
that." Not this guy, sweetheart. I pulled out my new shoes, fresh from 
the autumn catalogue of Kenneth Cole. 

And with that, I exited my dorm room and began the trek to hers,
conveniently located just three flights down. Drum roll, please. 

The elevator left me off right outside her door. Deep breath. Knock. 

Nervous look from side to side. Sweaty palms. Knock knock. 

"Coming. Just a sec." Footsteps. 

Heart beat faster. 

The door opened, and there she stood: beautiful, dressed in a silk
bathrobe, Oriental in style, with her straight, lively hair resting 
gently on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled betwixt the flutter of her 
magical eyelashes. "Yes?" 

Quickly. This must be done quickly. "Look, I think you're beautiful,
really beautiful, and well, I think you also look nice, and I'm a 
really nice guy, and – 

And now for the $10,359.96 lottery ticket : 

"I'm just wondering if maybe we could go out some time, you know, like
maybe to a movie or to get something to eat or even to the grocery 
store or whatever or if you want to stay in we could like smoke or 
something 'cause I have some and I heard you like to hit it up, you 
know?" 

To the grocery store? 

I called Visa the next day. "Hi, I was wondering if I could get my
credit limit increased? Yeah, I just need to buy another lottery ticket 
." $10,359.96 down the drain. And I ain't paying that late fee.


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