Optatio (op-ta’-ti-o): Expressing a wish, often ardently.
“Please, please, please! God! Let me win the lotto,” Picky Jackson said as he put every penny he had on the counter at Cliff’s and told the clerk Margret to put it all on Mega Millions. A crowd gathered as Margret counted the cash. It took 20 minutes to count it all: $146,000. The crowd cheered when Margret laid down the final dollar and yelled “146,000!” People milled around for awhile, shaking hands with Picky and wishing him luck on his gamble. Picky put his ticket in his wallet, bought a Poland Springs bottled water and went home, as usual, all alone and eating chips and party dip for dinner. He loved the bacon/sour cream dip from Hannaford’s, that, and a couple of PBRs. Picky had gotten his nickname from having had 6 wives—he was “picky” when it came to marriage.
He worked at the town’s major employer—Built Well Box Cutters. He worked in quality control, wandering around the factory randomly checking procedures and products and citing employees that were screwing up in either or both areas. His fellow employees hated his guts. In the 14 years he worked there, two assassination attempts had been made. In one, a whole box cutter had been inserted in his tuna sandwich, on Italian herbs and spices bread, from Subway. The perpetuator was never caught. However, Picky’s fourth wife was suspected of conspiring with one of Picky’s numerous enemies. In the other attempt on his life, somebody filled Picky’s coffee mug with box cutter blades. Picky instantly saw what was going on and saved his own life when he dumped the blades into a trash can,
Picky’s most pronounced characteristic was being superstitious. He went to a fortune teller twice a week and did his best to abide by what he thought she was saying. Her name Madam Starbelt. She was responsible for Picky’s withdrawal of his life savings and their investment in a lotto ticket. She had told him: “Your fortune sleeps. The lotto weeps. Dry its tears with dollars.” Picky figured this one out in a flash. He asked Madam Starbelt if he was right—that he should wake up his fortune and comfort the lotto, and reap his reward. Madam Starbelt would not answer him. so he did what he did.
The next morning he woke up and found out he had won a half-billion dollars. it was like a miracle. Ten years down the road, people are still talking about it. Picky is on his 11th wife and lives in a castle in Scotland. When you think about it, there’s no accounting for his luck. Picky’s decision-making was more or less insane, yet he achieved his goal. Would he still have won if he had done things differently? A lot of wealthy people make up narratives that make their wealth seem to be the result of their brilliance and insight. Are they full of shit?
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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