On the eve of the Mega Millions drawing, an event I don’t actually care for but came up in a late night conversation, I can not help but wonder what it means about America.
A gamble, a game of chance, a waste of money. Whatever you’d like to call it, the Mega Millions is a tradition that has gone on far longer than I would have ever guessed. In my mind, it’s a useless game played by people who are bound to walk away upset yet always come back for more, and it is this dedication that baffles me. With such a small chance of winning, why waste money on a ticket? Why, even, waste your breath?
While pondering this I came to the conclusion that it must mean something more than a slight chance of winning it big, and, incidentally, my mind slipped to The Great Gatsby and the American Dream.
My father is one of the people who always buys a ticket. Like Gatsby, there has always been a distinct optimism to him and every time he walks out of the convenient store, he is sure he will wake up a millionaire. He never has, yet still he continues to play and each time he reminisces about what he would do if he did. Would he quit his job? Travel the world? Would he invest? He always gives the same answers, giving voice to dreams he has held tight to for years.
I think it is this period of reminiscing about what could be, the promise, however small, of such hope that is what keeps people like my father from giving up on the lottery. In a way, it is their own version of the American Dream (lottery tickets are a quite American tradition, anyway). Like the American Dream, the lottery offers hope that someday it can all be better, that you too can stumble into wealth and the money spent on tickets will one day be worth it.
Coming to this conclusion, I imagine a young Gatsby, uniformed and with his soldiers pension in hand, waiting at a convenient store counter for his pick of a lottery ticket. When he gets it, he secures it carefully in his pocket, convinced he will win this time and reminiscing about what he would do if he did.