On busy Ormond Road, aka Champs Elysees of Elwood, Victoria, there’s a 1950’s apartment block that may one day be heritage listed if it survives the misnamed “developers.” Thirty-six one-bedroom flats with no parking whatsoever. For residents with a permit, it’s a scramble for places on the street, so the single space right in front of the entrance is something to be coveted, even temporarily. People refer to it as #1 and I got #1 today for the first time in months. Over forty people live in the ageing block and most have cars, the street is full of trendy cafés and thriving shops that attract lots more cars, so it felt like a small miracle that signalled a change of fortunes for yours truly.
I had just returned from shopping, so was relieved not to have to cart my heavy non-plastic bags very far. Life with a teaspoon of sugar, I thought. After unloading, I got out my bicycle for my morning spin along the canal to the beach. I was about half way there when a bird dropped a shit-bomb right on my nose. Yucky but potentially lucky. Everybody knows it’s a sign of good fortune when a bird targets a human. Accepted wisdom of the ages. And right on the nose, a direct hit. Wow, I thought, this is getting spooky. First the parking place, then this. There’s a Sicilian saying: “There’s no two without three.” Also, I’ve always believed that three signs are required to confirm beyond all doubt that you’re in a luck-filled moment of indeterminate duration which calls for action, besides locating a used tissue and wiping bird poo from your blessed nose.
I realised the universe was speaking to me, and that I had to be on the lookout for that confirming third sign. After my ride, I stopped in at my fave Elwood cafe and ordered a coffee & coconut macaroon and guess what – it was fresh! It was a new batch. The universe was not speaking to me, it was yelling. This was my day and I then knew I should immediately do what I had never done before. I had to buy a lottery ticket, because I was in the win zone where my numbers were much more likely to come up, especially if I bought a ticket.
Already anticipating sudden wealth, I wondered if it would affect my pension, how much I should give each of my adult kids, and how soon I could move to Tasmania and buy a whole house with water or even waterfall views. There are two hundred and thirty known waterfalls down there in paradise. I Googled it.
So I walked briskly into the newsagent/gambling hub of Elwood and then. . . O.M.G, a fourth sign! The music playing was Aguas De Marco by Jobim, my favourite song of all time. What’s the theme? The random poetry of everyday things. I was on a roll. Without hesitation, I bought one lotto ticket and gave Tatts my money, despite my previous assertions that gambling was for fools and Tatts was legal mafia. Either there’s an exception to every whatever, or I had committed to being a fool. I didn’t care which. Jackpot was $15,000,000.
Then the two day wait. Two days of secret but probably obvious joy. Mr Beatific-Smile, Mr Honk-Horn-If-You-Fart, Mr Humming-Certain-Jobim-Tune. Ticket on fridge, unfolded, pristine. I didn’t go out and buy something that I previously could not afford, like croc thongs for example. Thought about doing it to let the universe know that I was a believer, but then thought I might jinx something. People in general can’t know all the ins and outs of attracting good luck, or it wouldn’t be so wondrous when it happens.
Now, here’s the most amazing part of this 100% true story. After all those unmistakable signs and my late conversion to gambling, I did NOT win the millions. I got the bloke to check twice. Was there something I missed, some ritual I needed to do? I was stunned there for a minute or two. I’m not shattered, but I am confused. I doubt Tatts would organise all that just to get hold of my $11.85, but I know scams are everywhere these days. I’ll never get those croc thongs now, let alone the place in Tassie. This could break a weaker person.