vip in the city

To Connecticut

In the summer of 1998, the Powerball jackpot approached a then-record $200 million dollars. J and I were at Mom and Dad’s watching the local news coverage of Powerball fever, when we were both struck almost simultaneously with the same thought: We have to win this.

Problem was that New York was not one of the 20 states in which one could purchase Powerball tickets. Taking our 1 in 80 million shot would entail cross state lines into… Connecticut. Did the idea of jumping into our car and making a beeline for the Constitution State – for the sole purpose of gambling — give us any pause that night?

It took about five minutes for me to find the car keys and to scrawl out an explanatory note to Mom and Dad.

We ended up in Stamford, Connecticut that Saturday night – calculating that Greenwich, right over the border, would be hit with the brunt of the out-of-town onslaught (we were right) – but still ended up waiting on line for over an hour. During that time, most of which we spent comparing notes on how we would spend the untold riches, we got to witness some of the basest of human instincts at play: avarice, envy, and most of all: rage. Powerball rage. By the time J and I bought our $10 worth of tickets, the line of would-be multi-millionaires stretched around the block, many of whom we quickly realized were not going to see the inside of that newsstand before the 9PM cutoff. Sensing an impending riot, we hopped into the red Duster and vamoosed home, our hearts wild with hope.

And yet, alas, we did not win.

No, we did not drive into Connecticut this afternoon to purchase lottery tickets. But thinking about that night still makes me smile.