Risky Business
“Let me get this straight. You never actually buy the tickets?”
“Well, every now and then when I feel a pang of guilt—usually around Christmas time. But, for the most part, no. I don’t buy a single ticket.”
“Jesus Christ, Ken. That’s like playing Russian roulette with your life savings.”
“Trust me, this is nothing like Russian roulette. The odds are way better and the downside is nowhere near as extreme.”
“I don’t believe it. I’d never have the balls to take that kind of risk.”
“Balls has nothing to do with it. The odds of winning the Mega Millions are like one in a hundred and seventy-six million. That makes the odds of losing close to a hundred percent. All I do is bet on people to lose. And so far, they’ve lost. One hundred percent of the time.”
“So every week, your co-workers—people who trust you—give you how much?”
“Pretty close to a hundred bucks a week. Sometimes two-hundred if it’s a big jackpot.”
“And instead of going to the deli and buying tickets, you pocket the money?”
“The first few times, I actually bought tickets. I’d bring them to the trading floor and tape them to my monitor. Guys would flip through the stubs when they walked by but after the first few of weeks, no one ever thought to check. Everyone assumes they're right there in plain view.”
“So you basically pocket somewhere around five grand a year? Tax free?”
“Well… if you include the guys at the health club and the guys from my poker game, it’s closer to twelve.”
“Are you kidding me? You scam three different groups of guys to the tune of twelve grand a year?”
“Hang on now. I don’t scam anyone. These suckers fork over fists full of cash week after week—willingly I might add—to play a game they have virtually no chance of winning. By taking the other side, I have virtually no chance of losing.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“Listen, I take risks for a living. If I could buy a stock that had a ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine, nine, nine percent chance of making money, I’d do that trade all day every day. Why shouldn’t I do the same trade against lottery morons?”
“Morons? These people are your friends aren’t they?”
“Some of them are but that’s irrelevant. Almost all of them work on Wall St. themselves. They should know better. I don’t have one iota of pity for smart people who do stupid things.”
“So what do you do with the money?”
“I give most of it back to them in some form. I order coffee and bagels for the desk on Friday mornings. When we go out for cocktails, I pick up the tab. I pay for pizza and beer on poker night and I bought heart monitors for the guys at the health club for Christmas. Whatever’s left over, I donate to charity.”
“Can I have the tax receipt?”
“Screw you.”
“Well, every now and then when I feel a pang of guilt—usually around Christmas time. But, for the most part, no. I don’t buy a single ticket.”
“Jesus Christ, Ken. That’s like playing Russian roulette with your life savings.”
“Trust me, this is nothing like Russian roulette. The odds are way better and the downside is nowhere near as extreme.”
“I don’t believe it. I’d never have the balls to take that kind of risk.”
“Balls has nothing to do with it. The odds of winning the Mega Millions are like one in a hundred and seventy-six million. That makes the odds of losing close to a hundred percent. All I do is bet on people to lose. And so far, they’ve lost. One hundred percent of the time.”
“So every week, your co-workers—people who trust you—give you how much?”
“Pretty close to a hundred bucks a week. Sometimes two-hundred if it’s a big jackpot.”
“And instead of going to the deli and buying tickets, you pocket the money?”
“The first few times, I actually bought tickets. I’d bring them to the trading floor and tape them to my monitor. Guys would flip through the stubs when they walked by but after the first few of weeks, no one ever thought to check. Everyone assumes they're right there in plain view.”
“So you basically pocket somewhere around five grand a year? Tax free?”
“Well… if you include the guys at the health club and the guys from my poker game, it’s closer to twelve.”
“Are you kidding me? You scam three different groups of guys to the tune of twelve grand a year?”
“Hang on now. I don’t scam anyone. These suckers fork over fists full of cash week after week—willingly I might add—to play a game they have virtually no chance of winning. By taking the other side, I have virtually no chance of losing.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“Listen, I take risks for a living. If I could buy a stock that had a ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine, nine, nine percent chance of making money, I’d do that trade all day every day. Why shouldn’t I do the same trade against lottery morons?”
“Morons? These people are your friends aren’t they?”
“Some of them are but that’s irrelevant. Almost all of them work on Wall St. themselves. They should know better. I don’t have one iota of pity for smart people who do stupid things.”
“So what do you do with the money?”
“I give most of it back to them in some form. I order coffee and bagels for the desk on Friday mornings. When we go out for cocktails, I pick up the tab. I pay for pizza and beer on poker night and I bought heart monitors for the guys at the health club for Christmas. Whatever’s left over, I donate to charity.”
“Can I have the tax receipt?”
“Screw you.”
posted by dp at
2:56 PM
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