A Feeling of Power, For a Dollar

Tonight’s Powerball drawing is for $240 million.  I mention this to you now, because tomorrow, when I’m worth $240 million, I probably won’t talk to you any more.

I’ve played the Powerball many times in my life, even though doing so goes against my belief that gambling is a nuisance to our society and that large lotteries are, as the saying goes, a tax on the mathematically-challenged.  (Quick math note: one’s odds of winning the Powerball are 1 in 120 million, which means that when the pot reaches $240 mill, one is actually getting 2–1 payback on a $1 bet.  Wait… actually, one has to exclude the possibility of multiple winners, ignore inflation, and make several million bets for this to work out in the long run.  Second thought: Let’s keep math out of this.)

The wonderful thing about having a Powerball ticket in your wallet is how it powerful it makes you feel.  You daydream of starting businesses, buying islands, and taking long, uninterrupted naps on Wednesday afternoons.  You compute the value of the “cash option,” figure out how much you’d need to tuck away for a comfortable and interest-only retirement, and you make lists of the former co-workers you would put on salary to wash your toilet bowls.  You wonder which questions you should ask prospective accountants, how you should handle the unavoidable onslaught of charity requests, and whether you should authorize your body guards to shoot Anna Nicole on sight.  Carrying such possibility in your wallet is intoxicating.

Maybe not everyone who plays the Powerball has these thoughts, but I certainly do.  I’m prepared.  When my numbers come in, the Looney Machine will instantly kick into gear, and most likely, you’ll never hear from me again. 

So goodbye Interline.  It’s been nice.  Oh, and TCS: I’m feeling a bit of diarrhea coming on.  I’ll need you to put in some extra hours tomorrow.