A Tax on the Stupid

Earlier today, I found myself at the QuickCheck convenience store near my office, purchasing a beverage.

Chronically short on time, I was looking to execute a quick transaction. I wanted to get in, get out, and get hydrated and caffeinated.

Upon entering the store, I quickly headed to the store's fountainous region, where I prepared my drink, and walked towards the counter.

So far, so good.

Unfortunately, upon approaching the counter, I witnessed the following scene.

A shabbily-dressed woman (I'm being very charitable here, trust me) of at least 70 years of age, was standing at the counter, between me and Joy, the ironically-named QuickCheck cashier.

Over the next five minutes, I watched with mounting dismay while this woman proceeded to purchase $12 worth of lottery tickets, requesting specific numbers for each one.

My dreams of a quick transaction hopelessly dashed, I turned my thoughts to the unfortunate soul in front of me in the line, who was counting out 12 one-dollar bills to pay for her ridiculous lottery tickets.

Twelve dollars for lottery tickets? Is there really any point to that? One dollar isn't enough? Did it make her feel better to have a 12 in 50,000,000 chance at winning, as opposed to a 1 in 50,000,000 chance?

The worst thing about it is that she looked like a homeless woman. Was this really the wisest use of her funds?

On second thought, I realized that she appeared to be one step up from a homeless person. Perhaps I had misjudged her. I decided that she had probably escaped from a mental institution.

This led to some further thinking on my part. (In scientific terms, this is known as the "slippery mental slope."). If I ever escaped from a mental institution, would I go to a convenience store and purchase $12 worth of lottery tickets?

I decided that I would not do so, for several reasons:

(1) I am fundamentally opposed to buying lottery tickets. On a weighted-average probability, after-tax present value basis, a $1 lottery ticket is not worth $1. Even if I felt like doing something irresponsibly impulsive, like buying a lottery ticket, I wouldn't buy 12 of them, even on my way out of the loony bin. I might be clinically insane, but I'm no idiot.

(2) At the risk of sounding anti-social, if I ever did escape from a mental institution, I would probably embark on a killing spree. I'm not talking about running down squirrels in my car, either (I do that every other Wednesday). I mean people. Again, it wouldn't be anything personal. Rather, it's the kind of thing one is expected to do after escaping from a mental institution. You don't escape and then simply return to normal life. It's just not done, and completely inappropriate.

(3) For some reason, I am under the impression that mental institutions serve jello. Some of them even serve it at every meal. If my assumption is correct, I can't imagine ever wanting to leave a mental institution upon being given the option, let alone escaping.

Fortunately for me (and perhaps for society at large), the $12 lottery transaction wrapped up at this point, forcing me to abandon that particular train of thought. I paid for my soda and left the store, nearly bumping into the lottery-playing, escapee woman, who was now feeding all of her spare change into the lottery scratch-off ticket vending machine located right next to the front door.