本文发表在 rolia.net 枫下论坛Millions buying Super 7 lottery tickets today will dream of winning the $24 million-plus first prize. Tony Wong plays the role and reveals the secrets only big winners get to know.
I'm heading to the offices of the Ontario Lottery Corporation to pick up my winnings.
My heart beats faster after glimpsing the gray granite building on Bloor St. E. in downtown Toronto. In my trembling fingers is the winning ticket for the $24 million Lotto Super 7. The prize office is not unlike your neighbourhood bank. There is a small line-up and about five tellers in front of computers. I give my ticket to the first teller, but she can't cut me a cheque.
Instead, winners of more than $50,000 are led through a side door into a back room, where I end up meeting Tom Otto, Kathy Pittman and Jennifer MacDonald, the official big money jackpot greeters for the lottery corp.
They all congratulate me and I get to sit on the floral couch reserved for the VIP winners.
They ask me if I want coffee or something to drink. There is cream soda, cola, frappucino from Starbucks and a big basket of snacks.
I gobble up a Wunder Bar and a pack of salted nuts. I'm thinking of grabbing the Oh Henry! bar as well, but don't want to look too greedy. I am, after all, a millionaire.
MacDonald pulls out a clipboard and interviews me.
She asks my age, my occupation, my plans for the money, how often I play the lottery, how I pick my tickets.
My head is bursting. I want to scream "Show me the money!" but Otto must verify if my ticket is for real, before giving me some advice.
"First of all, get yourself an answering machine, you're going to get a lot of calls," he says.
Otto then suggests I keep my old number but get a private, unlisted number for friends and family.
"You're going to get a lot of solicitations, but you'll also get a lot of congratulatory messages from your friends."
Don't worry I tell him, I've already been in training. Before leaving the newsroom I have Toronto Star photo assignment editor Denis Cyr toughen me up by showering me with false compliments.
"You know I've always admired your work." Pause. "You're like my best friend in the whole world."
"Oh, blow it out your ear," I yell to Cyr before heading off to fame and fortune.
"You're the best," he yells back.
At the lottery corporation, Otto's third suggestion is to "Plan a vacation. You might not think so now, but winning this money will alter your life, you'll need time to reflect on that," he says. After that, get a financial adviser.
I already knew what I would do with $24 million.
First, I would pledge to "eliminate Third World debt," but only if Bono came begging for an audience.
Next, I would buy the house next door so I could house my wife's inevitable new Manolo Blahnik shoe collection. The Ferrari 360 Modena would be used strictly as an everyday grocery getter for my mom, and would be cooler than the minivan, plus it would save the wear and tear on my really nice cars.
For my niece's birthday party, I'd have my new pals `NSync drop by to sing a song or two.
As for me, I would buy myself a Tim Hortons franchise, which I would put in my basement, so my coffee would always be fresh and I wouldn't have to sit through their annoying drive-throughs any more.
I don't tell Otto this, because he would think I'm a freak, especially since I'm at that point eating as much free stuff as humanly possible. He leads me into the small studio in the back where I am to be handed the cheque. A condition of winning is that you must submit to a media interview.
Incidentally, Otto, Pittman and MacDonald all have media backgrounds, (Otto does the morning news for CHFI) and part of the job is to media train the winners for their interviews.
"This is usually the most frightening part for them because they sometimes don't know what to say or how to act," says Pittman.
He hands me a press release that he has written earlier: "Writer's Shock! Toronto Star Reporter Wins Record Lottery Jackpot!"
I am quoted in the release as saying: "It was the most shocking thing I've ever read in my own newspaper, and since I work there, I knew it couldn't be a misprint!"
We all have a good guffaw.
Since I'm a Lotto Super 7 winner, Otto rips down the Lotto 649 sign that is Velcroed to the wall.
He then slaps a huge Lotto Super 7 sign up and hands me a polar fleece Lotto Super 7 vest.
Over to one side is an old ball machine that was used to pull the numbers for Wintario when $100,000 used to mean something. Nowadays, the Lotto Super 7 results are drawn at CFTO studios in Scarborough.
Then I see the cheque. It's enormous, with my name on it. I hold it like a trophy, high above my head, sort of like Pete Sampras at Wimbledon, except this trophy is made of Styrofoam and worth a lot more.
I'll back up a bit here. The jackpot of $24 million, the second highest in Canadian history (four people picked up $26.4 million in 1995 in a Lotto 649 draw), is actually being given away tonight. I haven't actually won anything, only been assigned to give Star readers a sense of what happens when a winning stub is brought to the offices on Bloor St.
So you can breathe easy now.
Back at the lottery corporation, Star photographer Colin McConnell takes the shot of me jumping in the air grinning like a giddy idiot who doesn't have to work for a living the next day.
But the reality soon starts to sink in: The chances of winning the grand prize are one in 21 million and I haven't even bought my ticket yet.
At this point I am tempted to take my chances with the mega cheque and bolt out the door to the nearest bank.
Otto gives me a "don't even try it" look.
"Most people want to keep the big cheque, but we don't give those away," he says.
I ask him the worst part about the job.
"Handing over the cheque when your name's not on it," he says.
I nod in agreement and grab the Oh Henry! bar.更多精彩文章及讨论，请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net
I'm heading to the offices of the Ontario Lottery Corporation to pick up my winnings.
My heart beats faster after glimpsing the gray granite building on Bloor St. E. in downtown Toronto. In my trembling fingers is the winning ticket for the $24 million Lotto Super 7. The prize office is not unlike your neighbourhood bank. There is a small line-up and about five tellers in front of computers. I give my ticket to the first teller, but she can't cut me a cheque.
Instead, winners of more than $50,000 are led through a side door into a back room, where I end up meeting Tom Otto, Kathy Pittman and Jennifer MacDonald, the official big money jackpot greeters for the lottery corp.
They all congratulate me and I get to sit on the floral couch reserved for the VIP winners.
They ask me if I want coffee or something to drink. There is cream soda, cola, frappucino from Starbucks and a big basket of snacks.
I gobble up a Wunder Bar and a pack of salted nuts. I'm thinking of grabbing the Oh Henry! bar as well, but don't want to look too greedy. I am, after all, a millionaire.
MacDonald pulls out a clipboard and interviews me.
She asks my age, my occupation, my plans for the money, how often I play the lottery, how I pick my tickets.
My head is bursting. I want to scream "Show me the money!" but Otto must verify if my ticket is for real, before giving me some advice.
"First of all, get yourself an answering machine, you're going to get a lot of calls," he says.
Otto then suggests I keep my old number but get a private, unlisted number for friends and family.
"You're going to get a lot of solicitations, but you'll also get a lot of congratulatory messages from your friends."
Don't worry I tell him, I've already been in training. Before leaving the newsroom I have Toronto Star photo assignment editor Denis Cyr toughen me up by showering me with false compliments.
"You know I've always admired your work." Pause. "You're like my best friend in the whole world."
"Oh, blow it out your ear," I yell to Cyr before heading off to fame and fortune.
"You're the best," he yells back.
At the lottery corporation, Otto's third suggestion is to "Plan a vacation. You might not think so now, but winning this money will alter your life, you'll need time to reflect on that," he says. After that, get a financial adviser.
I already knew what I would do with $24 million.
First, I would pledge to "eliminate Third World debt," but only if Bono came begging for an audience.
Next, I would buy the house next door so I could house my wife's inevitable new Manolo Blahnik shoe collection. The Ferrari 360 Modena would be used strictly as an everyday grocery getter for my mom, and would be cooler than the minivan, plus it would save the wear and tear on my really nice cars.
For my niece's birthday party, I'd have my new pals `NSync drop by to sing a song or two.
As for me, I would buy myself a Tim Hortons franchise, which I would put in my basement, so my coffee would always be fresh and I wouldn't have to sit through their annoying drive-throughs any more.
I don't tell Otto this, because he would think I'm a freak, especially since I'm at that point eating as much free stuff as humanly possible. He leads me into the small studio in the back where I am to be handed the cheque. A condition of winning is that you must submit to a media interview.
Incidentally, Otto, Pittman and MacDonald all have media backgrounds, (Otto does the morning news for CHFI) and part of the job is to media train the winners for their interviews.
"This is usually the most frightening part for them because they sometimes don't know what to say or how to act," says Pittman.
He hands me a press release that he has written earlier: "Writer's Shock! Toronto Star Reporter Wins Record Lottery Jackpot!"
I am quoted in the release as saying: "It was the most shocking thing I've ever read in my own newspaper, and since I work there, I knew it couldn't be a misprint!"
We all have a good guffaw.
Since I'm a Lotto Super 7 winner, Otto rips down the Lotto 649 sign that is Velcroed to the wall.
He then slaps a huge Lotto Super 7 sign up and hands me a polar fleece Lotto Super 7 vest.
Over to one side is an old ball machine that was used to pull the numbers for Wintario when $100,000 used to mean something. Nowadays, the Lotto Super 7 results are drawn at CFTO studios in Scarborough.
Then I see the cheque. It's enormous, with my name on it. I hold it like a trophy, high above my head, sort of like Pete Sampras at Wimbledon, except this trophy is made of Styrofoam and worth a lot more.
I'll back up a bit here. The jackpot of $24 million, the second highest in Canadian history (four people picked up $26.4 million in 1995 in a Lotto 649 draw), is actually being given away tonight. I haven't actually won anything, only been assigned to give Star readers a sense of what happens when a winning stub is brought to the offices on Bloor St.
So you can breathe easy now.
Back at the lottery corporation, Star photographer Colin McConnell takes the shot of me jumping in the air grinning like a giddy idiot who doesn't have to work for a living the next day.
But the reality soon starts to sink in: The chances of winning the grand prize are one in 21 million and I haven't even bought my ticket yet.
At this point I am tempted to take my chances with the mega cheque and bolt out the door to the nearest bank.
Otto gives me a "don't even try it" look.
"Most people want to keep the big cheque, but we don't give those away," he says.
I ask him the worst part about the job.
"Handing over the cheque when your name's not on it," he says.
I nod in agreement and grab the Oh Henry! bar.更多精彩文章及讨论，请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net