I read yesterday about the arrest of a family who had ripped off winning lottery tickets from unsuspecting consumers. Specifically, one for a Lotto Super 7 twelve-and-a-half million jackpot. Authorities are now trying to track down the rightful winner, after 7 years. Yeah. Like that'll happen.
I must admit, upon learning that the store it happened at was in Burlington, my antenna perked up. I saw a pic of the store, and read the name. Variety Plus. Perhaps this was a store I frequented. I'm sure I've been in dozens of variety stores. Maybe some of them were even named Variety Plus.
The picture in the paper was small. The window was on the wrong side for my usual variety store. But if I squinted, I decided it could totally be another one I've been in. 7 years ago. The switcheroo happened on Dec. 26. I can think of many reasons I have run to a variety store on Boxing Day. I looked again.
I noted the hotline for calling the Lottery Office. They, and the OPP, are rightfully being deluged with calls, no doubt from people like myself who went out for milk 7 years ago, and only came home with milk. I cursed myself for not being one of the anal people who photocopy their tickets, or get them notarized or whatever. Every time I clean out dressers, I come across stray tickets stuffed amongst socks and underwear. Some of them are ten years old. The tickets.
As I reached for the real estate section, confident we will be moving soon with the spoils of our win, plus 7 years interest, I hesitated.
I've never played Super 7. And the only time I've bought any lottery tickets is when Roz and I have been drunk and dreaming of a new life. And she would never, ever let me be in charge of a lottery ticket.
I'm gonna call her. Maybe she won. Maybe she'll share.
Labels: lottery scam