Winning the PCH sweepstakes carries a burden

Just Passing Through

I’m getting worried about winning that Publisher’s Clearing House $5,000-a-week prize. I’ve resisted several years, but I finally broke down and filled out an entry form the other day. I didn’t, however, order any magazines or wasp collection jars or metal mixing bowls with rubber lids so my chances of winning may be down a bit.›They say it doesn’t matter — someone can just send in a letter asking to be put in the drawing, but I’m not so sure that will work.

I didn’t have an official letter from PCH. You see, it’s been about seven years since I threw my official entry in the trash and said some ugly things about never winning.›Maybe someone reported me or found my official entry at the dump ground.›Anyway, they never sent me another one.

So, I had to borrow one and cross out someone else’s name to make mine work. That, too, may be a problem.› Suppose they think I stole someone’s official entry form and just marked out his name. I didn’t steal it. I found it at the doctor’s office — in the trash. I was a little reluctant to pick it up, but they had all those latex gloves in that box above the trash basket — so I borrowed a pair and used that to touch the envelope.›I’ve watched enough of those crime scene shows to know there are worse things on an envelope than germs — fingerprints.

So, using two chopsticks from the Chinese restaurant, I opened the envelope and slid it into a Ziplock bag and threw it away down the alley from my house.›That’s when I realized that the name wasn’t just on the envelope — it was everywhere.› By the time I got through blacking out the names on that printout, it looked like a report from the Justice Department.›

Using a blue ink pen, I neatly wrote my own name and address on every place available. I even wrote my name on the places where I had to mark, “I don’t want this.” That was beside the metal bowl set and the order for›Gentleman’s Quarterly. It took a good two hours to get it ready. By that time, my blue ink pen had run out, and I had to switch to a black.›It should be okay — they said, “blue or black?”

That’s when I faced a conundrum. When I won — note the positivity — I would get $5,000 a week for every week of my life.› That’s a lot of money. I’m pretty sure I can’t spend it all, but let’s just keep that between us. Most of my family doesn’t read my column so that won’t be a problem — even if I let it slip that I’m the winner.› My luck PCH will put it on television and since some of the bunch does watch›Wheel of Fortune,›— it will be on one of the commercials.

Actually, winning is not the big problem.› I’m not sure who I will pick to get the “$5,000 a week for his or her life.” Of course, the best will be someone with the longest life expectancy.›A baby or young grandchild would be a good idea.›Which one? Will they share with the others? Will it ruin their lives by giving them too much, too young?› Who will manage the money? Who will keep my cemetery plot mowed?›

It’s just too much.› I’ve decided not to send the entry. I’ve known families that have been torn apart by a sudden windfall.›I’m just not going to do it.