Sean Cameron     Scratch n' Lose Any casual reader of this column (or anyone who knows me in the slightest) can safely surmise that it's the little things that really irk me. Like the government. Now I don't mean "The Government," that omnipotent yet nebulous hub of influence blamed for everything in recent memory from X-Files-style Roswell conspiracy plots to the proliferation of crack cocaine and AIDS. All that smoke-and-mirrors paranoia gets a little tiring. No, my gripes with the Man are a little more down to earth, so to speak. It is the common, everyday manipulation of the average citizen by state governments, the subtle ways in which they drain the human spirit, that get me riled up. With their sickening grip on the Luck Industry, states possess a tool of extortion and submission -- the scratch-and-win lotto game. Appropriately enough, this rumination originates with an unfortunate bout of bad luck. My boy P-Force's truck broke down, apparently the victim of a cabalistic curse. "Shoulda known better than to honk my horn at those sketchy Goth kids walking by the house," he told me on the phone. Upon further inspection, he traced the problem to negligent mechanics who failed to fill the engine with coolant at last service. Of course there was no way to adequately prove this. And in the biggest shank of all, he was stuck waiting for the tow truck at a local 7-11, the haute couture of convenience culture. After I arrived with transportation home, we indulged in the bountiful offerings of convenience store ritual. Finding the same old Apocalyptic Cherry Death Ray Slurpee a bit pedestrian for our adventurous disposition, we instead groped for a handful of scratch-and-win lotto games. "I'm feelin' lucky today, Cameron," P-Force said, although for the life of me I couldn't figure out why, considering the course of the day up to that point. The "Lucky For Life" game caught our collective eye, with its promise of "$500 a month FOR LIFE!" certainly enough to cover the maintenance cost. Five minutes later we were out a collective five bucks; my car littered with cardboard stubs and our dreams shrouded by a cloud of silvery dust. Later that evening, we patronized yet another convenience store, this time with the more noble intention of getting drunk. There we confronted the abominable nature of the system's own get-rich- quick scam. Hordes of people came clamoring in and out of the store with rolls of paycheck money, voraciously snatching up ticket after ticket. Even P-Force was intrigued by the demand and without intervention would have surely purchased another. But the hurried stride of the patrons settled into a dejected mope once the glittering cover was scratched away, revealing only disappointment. These state-produced games are blatantly and abhorrently marketed to the demographic most in need of an economic boost. Sold in the convenience marts which litter low income areas, the games attract patrons with promises of instant cash and a reversal of fortune. It is tragic to see people rush into the stores on payday with hard-earned cash, desperately throwing it away for the promise of uncountable riches. Those who regard lotteries as their last hope at rising above undesirable conditions fall easy prey to the illusions of government advertising. To some, the games are a whim, something to do out of boredom. For others it seems part of an endless cycle of losing, both in the immediate economic sense and in the continuous strain of watching hope slip further away. I find it exquisitely appropriate that a central government which prides itself on efforts to dismantle the tobacco industry hypocritically supports an operation which advocates gambling addiction. The dangers are dissimilar yet equally reprehensible, especially considering the target groups. The lottery amounts to yet another tax on the poor, luring them with promises of financial windfall. While proceeds may fund worthwhile activities, it is immoral to extract that money from them in what amounts to a legitimized scam operation. Of course, someone must win these games somewhere, but I have the sneaking suspicion that the ones who profit are people like my old doctor who used to clean up every weekend in Atlantic City. It all reminds me of the last legal brothel in the United States, operated for a time by the IRS during an audit. People pay to get lucky, but just end up getting screwed.

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