Days of Distraction

by Alexandra Chang

As long as I’ve known them, my parents have bought lottery tickets. I don’t. Then, at least, I am completely certain I will not win. The certainty is more manageable for me than the cycle of hoping/not knowing and losing and hoping/not knowing and losing. The poor man’s tax, I’ve heard it called. Or worse, the stupid tax.

Smile and nod. Repeat what they say to nudge them into further talking. I’ve learned most people want the opportunity to monologue.

I was proud, but now I don’t know of what exactly. How did it matter? The company is still thriving. He is still an overpaid executive. And here I am, sitting at the same desk, eating a free, stale bagel for lunch. Proud of my dignity and integrity? Or maybe, more likely, and only, the recognition and attention afforded by others.