Lucky Mart

“I’m sorry boss, better luck next time,” Victor said to the man across the counter. And he meant it—this dude looked like he could use some luck. The other man’s name was Rick, although Victor wouldn’t find that out until many months later. On this day, Rick slowly shook his head and slid his losing $10 Scratcher ticket across the counter, muttering “Just toss it.”  He walked away with the shuffle of an old man, but his face was that of someone closer to forty. Victor knew he would see the man again next week when he once again tried his luck, just as he had every week for more months than Victor or Rick could count.

Victor had started working at Bill’s Gas and Liquor Mart a few summers ago when he was home from Montana State but ended up staying when he lost his football scholarship. He was currently taking classes at the community college because they fit around the flexible hours that Bill offered him at the Mart. Victor was Bill’s best employee: never late, could deal with any kind of obnoxious customer and was unfailingly honest.

Victor felt like working at the Mart taught him more about life than an expensive college education would have. On any given shift he might see people laughing with friends after a night of partying, and then twenty minutes later, a middle-aged man trying to hide his shame after being laid off. He had also seen soccer moms who tried to camouflage their liquor consumption by padding their purchases with other “necessities”, and retired men who were lonely and came in for conversation and crappy coffee. Victor felt like the Mart was the one place where people showed their true selves, whether they realized it or not. If a guy was secretly an asshole who pretended to be nice front of family and friends, when he came in alone, he would be an asshole. No one seemed to care about trying to impress the guy who worked at the gas station, and Victor liked it that way. He could see people for who they truly were, and life was less disappointing that way. Victor tried to see the best in everyone, but this job was starting to show him that there may not always be any good to find.

Victor could tell that Rick, though, was one of the good ones. Rick had mentioned in passing that his father has been sick with cancer for the past year, and that his favorite person in the world wasn’t a person, but his 10-year-old chihuahua. He had talked about wanting to rescue more dogs but not having the time as he took care of his dad. Rick had some kind of job in risk analysis, which didn’t make sense to Victor because everyone knew that playing the lottery had terrible odds.

Victor was shocked by how many people bought lottery tickets, never seeing anyone win more than $100. Victor was practical and frugal, the result of being raised by a single mom who had to work two jobs. He saved whatever money he made, only allowing himself one six pack a week of whatever microbrew was on sale. He kept his life simple, avoiding entanglements while he figured out what life after football might look like. He was starting to wonder if the rest of his life was working at Bill’s. He knew if that happened his mom would probably die of a broken, disappointed heart. She was worried he would follow in his father’s footsteps, which was never landing on anything worthwhile and instead making his money as a grifter. No one knew what Victor’s father was up to ever since he pulled his great disappearing act ten years ago.

A few years ago, Victor stopped wondering where his father was, or if he would ever see him again. He had become a realist, learning that it was better to focus on what was in front of him rather than wishing for something that could never be. Victor knew his mom ached for the family she had for that short time; Victor also knew that seeing her son sad over his dad was more heartache than his mom could handle. So, Victor had put his heart and soul into football, never even knowing that his father had once almost been a draft pick for the Seattle Seahawks. Almost because his dad loved whiskey more than football and so began his drift into his creative money-making schemes. All Victor had known of his father was his drinking and disappearing acts, occasionally mixed with tearful begging for forgiveness when his latest con didn’t work out.

Victor learned to focus on the things he could control. Football became his distraction, then his obsession, filling his days and giving him the drive he needed. Victor found his family in football: his teammates were his siblings, and his various coaches became proxies for his dad. His mom took great joy in watching Victor excel in the sport, as he first gained the attention of the local newspaper and later, of college scouts. She knew this could be his ticket out of his father’s legacy, and she took great solace in knowing that Victor had found his gift. She was overjoyed when Victor accepted the scholarship to Montana State, which was far enough away that he could become his own person, but close enough to Boise that he never forgot home.

Life was good that first year at college, as Victor felt a purpose and lightness he had never felt after his dad’s abandonment. He didn’t worry about his mom so much, as she had loved getting to brag about her son and had finally started dating again.

And then he blew out his knee, and now Victor was home.

***

Fridays were busy days at the Mart. There was a steady stream of end of week revelers, interspersed with people filling up for weekend getaways. People were friendlier and the mood was lighter as Victor could feel customers shedding the stressors of the week. Not that there weren’t also assholes, there were always assholes--acting like the world owed them something and making sure everyone around them knew it.

Enter today’s asshole, a skinny jean, cashmere sweater, overpriced dress shoes and stupid blazer-wearing thirty something guy who seemed put out by life. He put a hundred-dollar bill, a 6 pack of hard kombucha, 70% organic dark chocolate bar and giant bottled water on the counter and surprised Victor by demanding two $10 Scratcher tickets. Another sucker, but Victor was here to please. He cheerily handed over the tickets, offering a “Good luck, man” to the guy, expecting him to move aside so Victor could help the next four customers who were waiting not so patiently in line.

Kombucha guy registered no awareness of the line behind him, as he intently scratched off the numbers. He seemed not to notice the throat clearing behind him or Victor’s silent plea for him to move aside. Luckily, the guy was efficient in determining that he wasn’t a winner, mumbling a “Thanks for nothing, asshole” as he tossed his losing tickets across the counter. Victor scooped them up to clear space for his next customer.

The rest of the shift was uneventful. Victor noticed that he was tired and anxious to get home, feeling especially glad that he didn’t have to work the next day. He needed to spend some time figuring out how he could make a real living, one that would take him away from this somewhat soul-crushing, Groundhog Day life at the Mart, each day morphing into the next. Victor knew he could get paid better somewhere else, even though it likely meant a shift to dealing with different shit while wearing fancier clothes in an office downtown. But what he really wanted to do was start his own business where he could decide not to deal with anyone else’s shit. Victor was almost finished with his marketing class and had already earned his graphic design certificate. He had big ideas about using his talents to enter the business side of college football; he just needed a minute to figure out his plan.

As Victor was closing up, he saw the Scratcher tickets that he had put aside a few hours earlier. He was about to throw them away when he noticed that one of the numbers hadn’t been revealed. He didn’t believe in signs, but thought it would be the best kind of irony if the kombucha douchebag had missed his opportunity. Chiding himself for being petty, Victor found a coin and scratched the number off. The card revealed itself as a winner. There were so many different Scratcher games, so Victor figured this one was likely some paltry amount that wouldn’t amount to more than $100. Against his better judgement, he scanned the card and waited for the results. What he saw had him questioning everything he thought he knew about fairness in the world. How could one little card change so many things? And how did one asshole so easily disregard this opportunity, now leaving Victor with a moral dilemma. Victor sat for the next few minutes, reeling in disbelief as he contemplated what this could mean for his life. Or what it could mean for its rightful owner’s life. What were the odds, here in this convenience store, where the most exciting thing to happen in the last twenty years was getting ten inches of snow in a day, that a $150,000 Scratcher ticket got thrown away by someone who probably didn’t even deserve it?

Victor pulled out an envelope, gently placed the ticket inside, and wrote “Sucker” on the outside. He placed it behind the register, trusting that no one would look there over the weekend. He’d figure it out next week.

***

Victor felt refreshed after his weekend away from work. He had done some serious thinking and decided the lottery ticket was his sign to make some shit happen for himself. Even though it wasn’t a million dollars, the money was enough to make a big dent in his mom’s mortgage payments, and he could use the rest on advertising to start his new business. Victor had a nagging sense of guilt that he wasn’t the one who had actually bought the ticket, but he truly had no way of getting ahold of Kombucha guy. The guy had paid cash for the tickets that had already been pulled from the stack that morning. If Victor had thrown the tossed tickets away, which is exactly what the guy had intended, it would have been like it never happened. But it did happen, and Victor felt entitled to some good luck.

That Monday back at work passed as slowly as any other Monday. People were never chatty on Mondays as they were caught up in their private ruminations. Victor was entertaining his own thoughts when Rick walked in. As usual, Rick picked up beef jerky for his dog and a candy bar for his dad before slowly making his way to the counter with his earnest, hopeful look. He shifted his weight before quietly asking “Hey Victor, how’s your mom?”

Victor smiled, appreciating that someone actually gave a shit about his life. He wanted to tell him that his mom’s life was about to get a lot better, but he stopped himself, wanting to relish his private good fortune for a little bit longer.

Victor instead answered, “She’s really good. I think she’s finally met a decent guy. About freaking time! How’s your dad doing after last week’s chemo?”

“Not so great. His insurance isn’t covering everything, so we’re trying to figure it all out. He’s tough, though. And I’m going to win the lottery, remember?”

Victor took a beat and smiled at Rick’s hopefulness. He waited for Rick’s predictable request, which came a few minutes later: “Could I get my Scratchers? I’m feeling lucky today!”

Victor took several tickets from the daily stack and handed them to Rick. As Rick revealed the numbers, Victor rang up his purchases. When he announced the total, he saw Rick’s defeated look while handed over his credit card and pushed the losing tickets back to Victor.

Victor scooped up the tickets and was about to offer his familiar conciliatory refrain that maybe Rick would have better luck next time. Instead, he reached under the register and handed Rick an envelope.

Rick eyed the envelope, looking offended by the word “Sucker” that was written on the front. He cautiously opened it, and his eyes widened when he saw the contents. He teared up, took a deep breath, and responded, “Most people call me Rick.”