Lunch time at work rolled around at 10:53, and after it was over, Val took a portion of her plan time to text her boy Genius.
“Read it and weep. It’s from last weekend.” (I even taught myself how to text a photo taken with my phone!)
“$300? Can’t quite see it.”
“Yes. 10X, with a $30 prize.”
“Fancy. Are you ever going back to school?”
“Of course, my Golden Ticket cost me $30... I AM in school, sonny. Some people work for a living. Not just M-W-F.”
“I am also working!”
(Let the record show that Genius is doing his co-op this semester. Which means he is getting real life 40-hour-week work experience for pay, but is still counted as a continuously-enrolled student, and keeps his scholarships for future semesters, while being able to work 6-9 months rather than just a 3-month summer internship. He drives 90 minutes to the city three days a week, and works from home two days.)
“At work, or at home?”
“Home. Today was direct deposit day. So I’m no longer a pauper.”
“Now you can buy a Golden Ticket.”
“Or I could not.”
“Unless, of course, you’d rather spend that money on alcohol, and piss it away in THAT manner.”
“How vulgar. I’m cutting back on alcohol. Because it turns out it’s rather expensive.”
“Glad you’re learning the value of a beer. Now I must get back to working, on site, at my full time job, which I will have for
63 62 more working days.”
There was no further response. So either Genius got back to working from home, or ran out to buy a lottery ticket, or poured a stiff drink.
I told The Pony how I sent a picture in a text, and that Genius said he couldn’t see how much I won.
“He couldn’t read the numbers through his own tears. You DID tell him to read it and weep.”
Let the record show that The Pony bought his first lottery ticket later that afternoon, as he paid for my gas. I gave him $10 of birthday money for it. Even though he was negotiating for $30.
Let the record further show that his ticket was a loser. And that The Pony did not weep.