The Lottery Diaries: Book One -- The Only Solution

By E.K. Santo

Randall Hill is a brilliant, but down on his luck nobody. No matter what the situation, he always finds the dark side of it, a black cloud continuously following him around.
But something interesting is about to happen...
The office he works in is about to have the most incredible luck...The co-workers pool their money together, and the highest Powerball Lottery in history falls into their laps!
There's just one problem...Randall never handed in his money!

What ensues may just surprise you!

This highly embellished story is based on a factual event. Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: EKSess Publishing
• Release date: Mar 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301294015

E.K. Santo

I'm a forty-something year old Dad, with the mind of a twenty-something, or maybe younger. I live on Long Island with my beautiful wife, two great kids, and a Labrador Retriever, who runs our house.I have always had a tremendous passion for books, and reading...especially fiction. I was an avid reader and writer in my youth, but never gave it a professional thought. I met my wife in 1990. Throughout our twenty plus years together, she has mentioned more times than I can remember that she could easily see me becoming a writer. I never disagreed with her, but I always felt I lacked the intellect or education to author a book...or several for that matter. But here I am.I figured...life comes around but once. Do I dare?Absolutely!

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About the Author

I'm a forty-something year old Dad, with the mind of a twenty-something, or maybe younger. I live on Long Island with my beautiful wife, two great kids, and a Labrador Retriever, who runs our house.

I have always had a tremendous passion for books, and reading. Especially fiction. I was an avid reader, and writer, in my youth, but never gave it a professional thought. I met my wife in 1990. Throughout our twenty plus years together, she has mentioned more times than I can remember that she could see me becoming a writer. I never disagreed with her, but I always felt I lacked the intellect or education to author a book, or several for that matter. But here I am.

I figured...life comes around but once. Dare I?

Yes.

Please contact me.

I would love to hear from you!

www.EKSanto.com

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E.K. Santo@EKSanto1966

Also Written by E.K. Santo

How I Made Over $1 Million Using The Law of Attraction

One

"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air..."

It was ironically coincidental that the boom box sitting ten feet from Randall Hill was blaring Hotel California by The Eagles. A cool wind had just wafted what few sprigs of hair he had left on his head to the edge of his forehead. Thanks for the reminder. he thought smugly to himself.

It was even more ironic that Randall was on the roof of a hotel, champagne glass in hand, toasting the sun going down in the western sky, a fiery orange ball, sinking below the surface. He was by himself, but not by design. He reserved the roof top of the Fifth Season Hotel, potentially spending a pretty penny on flowers, champagne, music – if you call a boom box music, and even had the hotel set up a small table accompanied by a pair of chairs, tablecloth, and candles. He almost feared what the bill was going to tally up to be in the end, but it didn't matter anymore. Not since the Big Day two weeks ago. Sorry, Monty. I won't be paying you a dime. he thought.

His eyes left the now setting sun, looking at the empty chairs, and the twin plates on opposite ends of the table. For all intents and purposes, this was extremely romantic, by most people's standards. Well, her loss. Even though he thought it, Randall knew he was the one who lost. He sighed, lifted his champagne glass to the now set sun, Cheers. he said to nobody, and gulped his drink. He was standing directly next to the edge of the rooftop. He looked straight down, noticing the curve of his belly hanging over his pants, before his eyes took him to street level. Would hate to slip and fall from all the way up here! he yelled out at the New York skyline, beginning to light up with the oncoming of night. Jesus, Randy, when the hell did you get so fat? A bit louder this time. Self-deprecation was one of his bad habits, followed by cynicism and sarcasm.

His vision blurred a bit. He blinked several times, getting his bearings, backing up from the ledge, which stood over fifty stories above the sidewalk. He burped, and walked back to the lonely table, fumbling for another drink. There were three bottles of champagne, but only one remained unopened. Randall was quite drunk. He lost his balance reaching for the bottle, looking as if he was mocking an Olympic gymnast, and stumbled his way into one of the chairs. There he slumped over, feeling very sorry for himself.

She's going to regret this. Oh yes! She is most certainly going to regret this! They all are! Screaming, slurring, even spitting a little. I have the wherewithal to make them all pay. He cracked a smile, began to pour himself a drink, then thought better of it, and just started swilling directly from the bottle. Even Dave Shapinski, that fair weather friend... Prick.

Randall took another large gulp, burped, then sighed. If his elbows hadn't propped him up on the table, he would have fallen off the chair as he promptly passed out.

Two

*** Eighteen Days Before ***

Stunning is the word that the men in the Port Central Station office call Gretchen Andreassen. Long, wavy blond hair, bright, almond shaped green eyes, thick pouty lips, porcelain skin. And the body of a hottie, slurped Dave Shapinski, eyes popping out from behind his ridiculously thick, horn rimmed glasses. She's 3D without the glasses! he snorted to his cohorts, Randall Hill and Matt Monoson, the only men in the whole office. All three wore huge, schoolboy smiles when they were in Gretchen's vicinity. She was amazingly beautiful, and topped off the beauty with a thick, Norwegian accent.

Of course Gretchen paid them no mind. She hated being leered at, so attempted to seem busy even when she didn't have the workload of a farm mule. She caught them out of the corner of her eye, staring as usual. She had worked as a sales assistant at a large Wall Street Brokerage firm, and awaited a potentially large sexual harassment settlement from that old job. Those men were truly pigs...the obscenities...the touching. She looked forward to taking there money. Real egotistical assholes.

She'd only recently taken this secretarial job, not being able to wait for her settlement. A girl had to work. At least the guys here just looked. The only one who spoke to her was Randall. If you wanted to call it that.

He crossed the office from the break room, not taking his eyes from her. He was thinking of something witty to say, as he approached the managers office. Twice he fell over his own feet on the old, gray office carpeting. Randall was only 37 years old, but he could've easily passed for 50. But it wasn't his looks that made him look aged; it was his attitude. Cynical. Sarcastic. He had a real chip on his shoulder.

And he was no ladies man. His sentences were laced with too much cynicism for him to be well liked. He wasn't hated, but he wasn't easy to like, either. He hated his job, and he let you know it, which most of his coworkers found offensive. Not because he hated the job, but because he let you know he did.

Dana Sellers, the office manager, had reprimanded him on more than one occasion for bad mouthing the job. Ya know Randy, it's pretty shitty for the morale of the folks here to have you bad mouthing the office all the time. I know this is no glamour job, and the pay is nothing special, but make the best of it. You'll get more respect that way. She awaited his response; got nothing. Do you have to be such a Negative Nancy? Randall wanted to punch her in the jaw.

If Randall had one redeeming quality, it was his brain. His intelligence was off the charts. That intelligence is what kept him his job. He ran operations with Dave Shapinski, who he considered his best friend. Dave considered himself to be Randall's only friend. And that was probably true.

Randall somehow made it to the manager's office without belly flopping. He stood at the door, staring at Gretchen through the glass, and tapped twice. Gretchen looked up, and smiled. He walked in, noticing the moisture in his armpits had become heavy. Closing the door behind him, he picked up on the rich scent of a pretty perfume. Randall was captivated by Gretchen the moment she walked in the office a little over a month ago. He didn't kid himself...he knew she was way out of his league. But what a pleasure it is to come to this crappy little office five days a week to see her. he thought.

Morning Gretchen. The boss busy? That was all Randall could come up with to impress his goddess. The phone rang. One second, Randy...Ms. Sellers office, can I help you? She looked up at him, winked, and went back to her call, Yes, please hold. Intercom. Ms. Sellers...Commissioner Banks on line three.

Like a schoolboy, all Randall was aware of was Gretchen's wink. Is that a hint? Is she inferring something? Should I wink back? He sat fantasizing. No...Randall Hill was no ladies man.

I think she'll be just a few minutes. Take a seat, Randy Gretchen purred. At least it sounded like a purring cat to Randall. He sat in the chair outside Dana Sellers' office door, trying his best to look away from Gretchen. Dave Shapinski walked by, big grin on his face. He stopped for a moment at the closed door separating them, signaling Randall with a nod of his head. Randall picked it up as, You lucky son of a bitch, being in the same room with the Sun Goddess! Dave. Randall thought humorously, thinking how amusing Dave Shapinski could be.

Randall sat, waiting in a daydream. Lost in no particular thoughts. It was as close to dreaming at night as you could get...hazy, lazy...not being here. Maybe a nice beach, with Gretchen walking up the white sand towards him, beautiful blue waves behind her. The scene, unfortunately, was interrupted.

Dana Sellers' office door opened, and out she came, a stack of papers and files from waist to chin in her hands. She dropped them on Gretchen's desk. Busy little bees are we. she said, trying to sound upbeat, but falling flat. Dana always had these little sayings...always trying to rally the troops.

She turned to deal with Randall, but at the same moment, in burst Michelle Trainor, the office Assistant Manager. Goooood morning! she blared, wide eyed and excited. Did you guys see the paper this morning? In her hands she carried both a newspaper and a clipboard. The clipboard had a very loud piece of paper on top: Office Lottery Pool in multicolored letters, was quite obvious. Michelle, who put herself in charge of the office pool, took it very seriously.

There were twenty six employees in this particular office of Port Central Station, the city-owned company has well over 1000 employees. Each office works independent of the others. One office, located in New Jersey, was doing an office lottery pool of 20 employees. That office won a $100,000 second prize state lottery. When Michelle Trainor saw the pictures of some people she knew from the company in the newspaper, she lit up like a candle. Dana, we have to do an office pool. she told Dana over a sandwich in the manager's office some 8 months ago. Imagine the morale and camaraderie that's going on in the New Jersey office. They won $100,000. Together. No, it's not a great deal of money, but they did it together. I think it would be great for the office.

Dana looked at Michelle, a slight smile on her lips. It did make sense to her, the camaraderie...doing something as a team. This was her goal for the office...to run like a well oiled machine.

So with Dana's okay, Michelle began the office pool. To many people, all around the country, this is a normal office practice: group lottery pool. However, Michelle Trainor saw this as an important weekly task, taking into account all sorts of statistics. Not just lottery statistics...Michelle figured in statistics of coworkers in the office. Had they ever won anything? Do they play the lottery? Do they feel like a lucky person? This list of questions went long, and deep. Michelle became extremely obsessed with the office lottery pool. It was her baby.

Michelle threw down the The Daily News newspaper on Gretchen's desk. Sprawled across the entire front page was No Winner Of The $300,000,000 Powerball. No winners! I love when the jackpot gets huge! That's our time to shine! Michelle was bubbling over with enthusiasm. If she could, she would have morning pep talks on the days the lottery was drawn. I'm not sure how much the next jackpot's gonna be, but we're gonna have to step it up! She raised her hand