Rhoda had this funny feeling; more of a conviction; not merely a funny internal feeling, but a simmering certitude. She thought she knew the winning numbers to that evening’s lottery draw.
Her numbers were 3, 7, 8, 21, 31, and 39. At work that day, Rhoda was telling everyone at the office water cooler that she thought the numbers were 3, 7, 8, 21, 31, and 39. She was going to take a ticket. The prize was 13 million.
She got a few groceries on the way home from work, and was so busy trying to decide which brand of cranberry juice was the healthiest, that she quite forgot to buy a ticket.
The next morning at the office, Rodger of Accounts was over the moon. Did she take a ticket using her numbers? No, she forgot.
Well I did, and I’ve won 13 million, said Rodger.
This set Rhoda on fire:
They’re my numbers and the prize money is really mine. At least half of it. I don’t know what you’re going to do with all that money, you’re just a money-grabbing accountant and you get paid so much that you have money falling out your bum. You don’t need it. As far as I’m concerned it’s my money MY MONEY BECAUSE THEY WERE MY NUMBERS. I’ll take you to court, that’s what I’ll do, unless you give me at least half. I don’t care what it costs me but I’m going to get my hands on it. You’d have nothing if you hadn’t stolen my numbers. THIEF! That’s what you are. A THIEF! I WANT THE MONEY, YOU MONEY-GRABBING WINDBAG OF SOGGY GREED. IT’S LUST, THAT’S ALL IT IS. LUST FOR MONEY. UTTER GREED.
I was just having you on, said Rodger.