I first took an interest in money when I started buying scratchcards.
Working night shifts in the local pub, I began to accumulate a healthy bulge of tips squandered from the hearts of drunks. One day, a punter, who normally wore a look of devastating contempt, came in with a smile emitting an outer-worldly glow. He bought a pint and slapped £50 deep into my hand. The my hand-his hand money sandwich was burning, and that’s when he started to grill me. “Know why i’m giving you this?”, he posed with the notion he didn’t care for my response. “Because you’re poor, and i’m rich…now”. As the words trickled through, spit gushed out his mouth and waterfalled down onto my chest, converging through my cleavage and onto new plains. I looked into his eyes and smiled. £50 pounds is £50 pounds. “Picked myself £15,000 on the scratchcards didn’t I. Now keep pouring, and i’ll keep paying!”. I kept pouring, he kept gushing, and I kept smiling.
The Longley Arms pub, ironically named, was for its lack of long-armed customers, but instead short stubby folks with little arms. Long armed customers would walk past briskly, only looking through the window to confirm their beauty. Feeling time had served me it’s notice, I quit, and became a full time gambler. For the next two years, I would buy scratchcards and scrub the silver foil. And each day I cleaned up. By the end, I had accumulated over £7000. I decided to use the winnings for the big score and bought 7000 lottery tickets for the Wednesday Lottery Rollover. Rich to poor, and I came tumbling down. I didn’t get a single number on any tickets. Back to pour.
Gambling means big wins, and big losses.
This post was written by Trisha Cornrose