Still on lotto

By Al S. Mendoza

THEY say they come in threes. 

And so, this will be the third time in three weeks that I’m going to write about lotto.

This one’s tragic, though. 

Not all lotto stories are happy, you know, or have happy endings.

Normally, it starts with joy.  At times, though, it ends with indescribable grief.

Read on.

This is a true story.  Again, my beloved hometown of Mangatarem is the setting.

Not too long ago, a town mate of mine became my town’s first real lotto jackpot winner in America.

I forgot how much he won.  But I can assure you it could carry him past seven lifetimes.

Following his lotto victory, he came home with his family in tow.  America wasn’t in the heart anymore.

With millions of dollars in the bank, what does one need America for?

Upon arrival here, he splurged on buying properties after building a mansion for his family in the barrio where he was born.

Literally, he lapped it up.  His barrio mates loved him.  People presenting themselves as his relatives, he embraced them as his own. 

As we say, you are a winner, your relatives multiply.

You are a loser, you become an orphan.

In short, he was generous to a fault.

Then one day, he died. Tragically. 

It happened so fast.  He had barely savored the juices of his lotto triumph.

That ill-fated day, he went to Dagupan with his bosom buddy. He bought a car for himself and for his buddy.

Before heading for home, they had a big meal and one drink too many.

On the way home, they raced against each other every now and then.

Then it happened.

In our national highway past the poblacion going to Manila, the lotto winner overtook his friend almost at full speed.

He didn’t see or failed to see an oncoming minibus from the opposite direction. 

Collision.

Head-on.

Total wreck.

Dead on the spot.

The friend survived. Unscathed.

The driver of the minibus survived. Just minor scratches.

You  think that was gruesome enough?

Think again, fellas.

The same minibus that killed our lotto winner just came from the house of our now-dead lotto winner.

The owner of the minibus, who drove the minibus, came offering to sell his minibus to our now-dead lotto winner.

The minibus owner couldn’t wait any longer for the lotto winner to arrive and so, he left as dusk had started to set in.

The relatives of the dead lotto winner sued the minibus driver for homicide arising from reckless imprudence.

On bended knees, the minibus driver begged for forgiveness.

What can the heirs of a millionaire gain from pursuing a case against a poor minibus driver?

He got his pardon. 

Charges withdrawn.

Case dismissed.

Now tell me, who needs a lotto jackpot?

I still do.

I will not drive when I drink.

There’s the chauffeur to do the driving to begin with.

And I’ll remind him always that we are on board a stretch-limo and not a Formula One car.

(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/general-admission/)

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