Which is why, with bated breath, I have awaited my telephone to ring at precisely 1pm on Saturday, the exact time in which my local feed store, The Hayrack, has been holding a weekly drawing for five bags of horse feed to those who have deposited tickets into a glass bowl with each store purchase. With the extra expense of the drought and added freight slapped onto everything we are currently purchasing, receiving five free, 50 lb bags of horse feed is like winning the lottery.
Because I have zero storage at my barn (its stuffed to the rafters with horses) I find it necessary to make several trips to The Hayrack each week. Youd think by now surely my tickets would simply overwhelm anyone elses and I would be the grand prize, well, the only prize, winner. But it is not to be. For two Saturdays now, I have glowered at my silent, sullen, telephone with the same expression that a frustrated wife stares at her non-communicative husband who reads the newspaper at the breakfast table.
I never win anything!
This is not entirely true. I did actually win the raffle at a local Dollar Store. It was terribly exciting: the big prize was The Windstream 500 a big, box fan that could stand on its own and I thought, This will be terrific in the aisle of the barn to help keep the horses cool! As I filled out my raffle card I saw that I was obliged to write my name and phone number. I hesitated. Being a minor celebrity with a radio show, one does have to, sadly, think about security in this age of stalkers and senseless crime. Should I really put down my legal name and home phone number? It nagged at me and I had a sudden, inspired flash of brilliance and thought, Well, I shall just make up a false last name and who shall be the wiser? Not a bad idea, really, had I chose, Pam Smith or Pam Johnson.
I chose Pam Banana.
You can imagine the thrill that leapt into my heart as the phone jingled promptly a day later and informed me that I, Pam Banana, was the lucky winner of the Windstream 500! With a giddiness I havent felt since finishing second-to-last in my third grade Field Day 100 yard dash, I slung my dually down the street and arrived within minutes to claim my prize. Clasping the enormous fan to my chest, I deftly presented my winning ticket. The cashier, not looking up from her slightly chipped crimson finger nail, mumbled, I need to see your identification.
Certainly! I chirped, pulling out my drivers license.
That doesnt say Pam Banana. she replied.
Well, no, but my actual last name is Stone. I just made up Banana.
Your identification has to match the raffle ticket, or I cant give you the fan. she said, flicking off another small bit of red varnish.
I am Pam Banana, but my last real name is Stone. I explained again, looking nervously at the queue of customers that were waiting to check out. Like I said, I made up the name. I mean, who the hell is called Banana?
The cashier looked up, bored. Well, evidently you are, but you cant prove it. Please stand to the side so I can check out these people.
I had reduced myself to a forty year old woman, standing in a Dollar Store, on a Thursday afternoon, hearing my own voice repeat pathetically, But I am Pam Banana. I am!
I never win anything.