Strike it Rich

There are a few regrets when I look back on my life, but all things considered, I’ve survived the tough times and enjoyed the good ones. I started writing this when I was fifty-eight years old, and looking back at my childhood, I can say that I got on well with my siblings and Mum and Dad were good people.

I married the love of my life in my early twenties, and ten years later we moved to Australia with our three children. We left Johannesburg on New Year’s Eve in 2000 and flew back in time. The entire world had been conned into believing that the Y2K or Millennium Bug would cause critical malfunctions across essential services. Computers and electrical equipment would stop functioning. Aeroplanes would fall from the sky, trains would derail, and so on. Fortunately for us, none of this happened, and we arrived safely at Melbourne airport.

Twenty-two years after arriving in Australia, my husband unfortunately passed away. I continued living in our family home and consider myself lucky to have our three married adult children and my six grandchildren living within a thirty-minute drive.

I don’t have the gift of the gab, and I’m not academically brilliant. I suspect I would be described as dependable and capable, with a wacky sense of humour.

Every week, I used to buy a $10.00 syndicate Lottery ticket with the same syndicate from the same news agent. The prize money had reached an astounding $50,000,000, but being part of a syndicate would mean sharing any winnings with ten other people. Five million would be very nice, thank you.

Then I discovered that someone else had bought my share in the syndicate, and it had sold out. I am so annoyed that, in a show of rebellion, I refuse to join another syndicate. I double my money and buy a quick pick.

It’s a busy week: I’m working full-time, helping transport grandchildren to and from school, then rushing to watch them in sporting events after a demanding work schedule. I forgot about the lottery. Someone mentions that the winner lives in our suburb.
‘Lucky thing,’ I say, then carry on regardless.

Saturday morning, when I visited my local shopping centre to do the weekly shop. A banner strung across the entrance of our local news agent’s door shouted: “WE SOLD THE WINNING TICKET” (followed by seven numbers in big red letters.)

I fumble through my bag and pull out my lotto ticket. The first three numbers match, and four and five match. I blink and double-check before reading the last two numbers. Then check again. I’m in shock. I’ve got that queasy feeling in my gut and look around to see if I recognise anyone. I’ve been known to transpose numbers in the past, so I find a ballpoint pen and write the numbers on the palm of my hand before making my way to the nearest café.

After ordering a pot of breakfast tea and a toasted sandwich, I deposit the 50c change into the head of the plastic RSPCA dog.

Seated at a table, I recheck my ticket, and it really hits me. “I’ve won $50,000,000.” I’m conscious of “Hey Big Spender” sung by Shirley Bassey resonating through the shopping centre speaker.

‘How appropriate,’ I mutter, while trying to focus my thoughts through a fuzzy cloud. I’ll have to claim my winnings at the Lottery Head Office. It’s in the city or on the North side. I’ll have to keep the ticket safe until I get there. I tuck the ticket into my purse, zip it up, and put it at the bottom of my bag. My mind is working overtime.

The only reason I don’t phone my children is because I don’t know who to call first and don’t want to show favouritism. I dive into the bottom of my bag and find a scrunched longish shopping list. Smoothing out the paper, I turn it over and write the lottery numbers on the back.

I refocus and start writing.

Look up the Head Office address for the state lottery.

‘It probably only opens on weekdays, so I’ll have to wait until Monday morning. Forty-eight hours is a long time to carry a flimsy piece of paper worth $50,000,000 around with me.’ I realise I’m talking to myself, so I clamp my lips and think inwardly.

Contact the children and tell them what’s happened. Who to tell first? Jenny’s the eldest, but Patsy’s the jealous one. She might be hurt that I didn’t tell her first. Philip won’t care, but then again, he might.

Contact the children and tell them what’s happened.

‘I won’t tell the children just yet.’ I must have been talking aloud to myself when the waitress delivers my order.

‘Were you speaking to me?’ she asks.

‘No. Sorry, just muttering to myself.’ I thank her, and as she turns to leave, a voice calls out.
‘Janie. Hi, where have you been hiding? I haven’t seen you for yonks.’ Delphi plonks herself down opposite me. I would have been delighted to see her anytime, but not now.
‘Hi Delphi, all good thanks.’ We make small talk. I nearly choke trying to swallow the toasted sandwich too quickly and swig my tea in between mouthfuls to try and get it down. Desperate to escape, I glance at my wristwatch.

‘Ooh, I’m meeting the children for lunch, and I haven’t done any shopping yet. I must hurry.’ I’m lying, but I have to get away, so I stand up and start to leave. ‘I’ll call you next weekend, Delphi, perhaps we can meet for lunch.’

‘Sounds good.’ She’s eyeing the untouched half sandwich. ‘Can I have the rest of your sandwich? Pity to let it go to waste.’

‘Sure, and there’s probably another cup of tea in the teapot too.’ I had forgotten what a penny-pinching, scrounger Delphi was, but I didn’t care as it helped me make my escape.
I don’t recall what I bought in the supermarket or my journey back home. I turned on the computer to recheck my lottery ticket to make sure I hadn’t made a mistake. I still couldn’t believe my luck. After locking the ticket in my jewellery case and safely hiding it behind the secret panel in my wardrobe, I tried to focus.

“What to do if you win the State lottery.” Google gives the State Lottery headquarters address, which is located in the middle of the city, but it is closed over the weekend and public holidays. I was relieved to see that in Australia, the winner has the legal right to stay anonymous for reasons of personal safety and decision-making.

I pull the tatty scrap of till paper from my bag and continue my list.

• Look up the Head Office address for the state lottery. tick
• The previous winner advises Don’t put all the money in one account. tick
• Check how many bank accounts I have. Still to do
• Contact the children and tell them what’s happened. Still to do
• Remain anonymous – Don’t tell anyone! tick
• Who to share my winnings with – family and the needy. A work in progress

I ran out of paper and rewrote my action list on a foolscap lined sheet.

Checking the time, I realise it had been five hours since I discovered I was a multi-millionaire, and I still have no idea what to do. I’m terrified, excited, and bewildered all at the same time.
Trying to think of my family and people in need. Who to give what? The problem is, it’s too much money. I must think carefully and have a long-term plan. One thing I know for sure is that I don’t want anyone except my three children to know about my winnings.

One article gave good advice. Don’t rush out and spend money on new cars or elaborate holidays, as this would be a sure giveaway. I needed time to process what was happening.
My daughter Jenny called and asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the park that evening with the children and the two dogs. I happily accepted, as it would help to pass the time and distract me. There were times during our walk that I nearly mentioned the money, but I remained strong.

On returning home, I listened to a message on the answering machine from my other daughter Patsy asking if she could collect me for church. I returned her call and agreed to a time the following morning.

My list of what to give to who was growing. I wasn’t hungry and barely ate any of my dinner. TV couldn’t hold my attention, and sleep only came after a hot bath and a sleeping tablet.
The following morning, we attended our Baptist church, and after the usual Christian songs, our new young pastor took to the stage.

‘I’ve been asked to speak to you today about money.’ His crooked smile made him look a little sheepish. ‘Talk about throwing the rookie pastor in at the deep end.’ This caused much laughter.

I couldn’t believe that today, of all days, the church sermon was exactly what I needed to hear. He spoke about Jesus’ warning against greed and hypocrisy in the parable of the “Rich Fool”. After a man asks Jesus to intervene and tell his brother to divide an inheritance, Jesus tells this parable. “A rich man builds bigger barns for his surplus grain, only to have God call him a fool, because his life is demanded that night.” This highlighted that life isn’t only about earthly possessions. We must not forget about being “rich toward God”.

The young pastor hurried on to tell us that God wants us to be prosperous and have nice things, but we must remember to put God’s kingdom first. He continued with a verse from James 4, warning against presumptuousness or boasting about future plans, and highlighting life’s brevity and uncertainty. “You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a moment and then vanishes.”

It was as if this sermon were especially written for me, and the amazing thing was that I now knew what to do. I would turn to God and ask him to guide me in my decisions from now on.

I slept well that night, and although I am a nervous driver, I drove into the city after the rush hour chaos and parked in the most expensive underground parking garage I have ever used. I hesitated when I saw the cost per hour, then reminded myself. I have the money. I can afford it. It would take time to get over watching my pennies and to start behaving like a millionaire.

I felt proud of myself for overcoming my fear of city driving and underground parking facilities. Stepping out of the car, I shouted.

‘I’m a millionaire.’ My voice echoed back at me, and I hoped no one had heard. The reality was beginning to sink in.

The receptionists at Lottery headquarters looked very professional, and I wished I had dressed up instead of wearing three-quarter pants and a slightly faded striped blouse.
I lifted my chin. ‘My name is Janie Hamilton, and I need to speak to someone about a winning lottery ticket.’ Suddenly, I felt exceedingly small, standing there alone.

‘How did you purchase the ticket, Mrs Hamilton?’ the smartly dressed young lady asked.
‘With cash at a newsagent. Why, what does that have to do with it?’ From what I had read, all I had to do was verify my ticket, complete the necessary paperwork, and establish my identity.
‘We need to know if you are registered with the Lottery office or if you purchased your ticket online. Different procedures depend on how you bought your ticket.’ She straightened up and spoke down to me in a condescending manner, which put my back up. I might not have been familiar with the lottery procedure, but I was not an idiot.

‘I paid cash, and I am not registered with the lottery office, but from what I read up, all I need to do is complete the necessary paperwork and prove my identity.’ My eyes flashed a warning. Even my children backed off when I gave them that look. I don’t know if my threatening look had anything to do with it, but she softened her attitude and escorted me through to a private booth.

‘Robert Johnson will be with you shortly, Mrs Hamilton. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ I opted for coffee and waited patiently as I checked that my documents were in order. I’d brought everything I could think of. Passport, Driver’s licence, utility bills, and banking statements from both the banks I dealt with.

Robert Johnson was a nice-looking man with a pleasant manner, making me feel more comfortable. After the initial introduction, he asked to see the winning lottery ticket. I reached into my bag. Then froze. I had been so busy organising my documents and contact details that I had left the winning ticket in my jewellery box, hidden behind the secret panel in my wardrobe. I felt sick.