Skin in the game

Tomorrow is the record Powerball drawing. And for the first time, I actually care. Because for the first time, I have joined the office pool.

I’ve risked money before – I’ve invested in stocks since I was 12. But stocks are different because you’re investing in something that has value. Or will. Eventually.

Whereas with gambling, it’s just pure income re-distribution, regardless of merit.

And Powerball is the most lopsided form of income redistribution ever conceived, which is why I have never bought a ticket.

But when the office pool was organized, the social pressure was overwhelming. Plus, the fear of waking up Thursday and being the one non-millionaire on the staff. Awkward, right?

So I put in $2. Now it’s all I can think about. I don’t care about the fiscal cliff anymore, all I’m worried about is office pools gone bad – Where the holder of the office pool forgets to write your name down, or makes a side bet that just happens to win. So I demanded to know if Ursula, who is the official holder of the office pool, made a side bet. She swears she hasn’t. But how do we know?

Then I saw that her record-keeping was just a bunch of names on a piece of loose-leaf paper…no transaction numbers, no security pattern, no way of knowing whether the names were real or phony. I don’t know who works here.

Now I hear that some people have already bought their own tickets in addition to being in the pool. How do we know they won’t cut some backdoor deal with this woman who I really don’t know all that well?

Everybody says the lottery lets you dream for a couple of days.

But now I’m just hoping nobody here wins. It would be a disaster. We may never know the truth.

Until Thursday, when Ursula suddenly vanishes.