Last Sunday was the annual Christmas lottery drawing in Spain. On that day most people wake up and turn on the television, hoping to see the children who call the numbers call the only number that matters - theirs. The illusion of the lottery is to adults like the illusion of Christmas is to children. Children dream of presents they have asked for and await. Adults dream of being able to pay off debts and buy that car they've been dreaming about.
It's not that this drawing has the biggest prizes. It's that the prizes are generally well scattered. People tend to buy décimos, which is a ticket that is a tenth of a number. Numbers are sold in 160 series. In each series there are 100,000 numbers in sets of ten tickets, called a billete. Since an entire billete costs two hundred euros, it's common to buy décimos at twenty euros each. People also buy participaciones, generally at five euros each. A participación is generally sold by a store or association. The biggest prize is four million euros to the billete of the winning number. Since most people buy a tenth that translates to four hundred thousand euros to a décimo and one hundred thousand to a participación. Since the numbers are well distributed, many people can win some money, even if only a hundred euros in what is termed the pedrea, the smaller prizes, which sets off this drawing from others. A lotto-type drawing generally brings big prizes to only a few, but in the Christmas drawing, because of its large range of prizes, there's more of an opportunity to at least win shopping money. The lottery was instituted in 1812 and since then people have been trying their luck at leaving the working class.
The Christmas lottery tickets go on sale in July, but at that moment of the year people are thinking about the beach and not December snow. When sales really pick up is at the end of November and the beginning of December. Some lottery sellers over the years get fame for selling winning tickets and those are the ones where people always line up. One of the most famous selling establishments is Doña Manolita in Madrid, just off Puerta del Sol. When we were there at the beginning of the month we were lucky. Just before closing
time at nine o'clock there was a bit of a line but we joined it, hoping to get in before closing. We did and I bought two décimos. The next morning I walked by while my daughter was doing her SAT's and my mouth dropped open. The line stretched down the street, around the corner, down the next street and around the corner again. This past week television crews went to film and they asked people how long they had been standing in line. Most had been there for over three hours. Sometimes you can tell how big the recession is by how long the lottery buying lines are.
Leading up to the drawing, as in any market economy, there are commercials. From 1998 till 2005 the British actor, Clive Arundell, appeared in what are still considered the best lottery commercials in this country. In black and white, evoking Christmases past and with music from Doctor Zhivago in the background, he appeared as a ghost of Christmas distributing luck amongst ordinary people who needed it. He became so popular that whenever he appeared on a Spanish street around Christmas time people have even asked if they could rub their lottery tickets on his head to give them some luck. (Yes, Spaniards are superstitious!) Ever since then people have wanted him back, especially this year. When this year's commercial appeared, people laughed and groaned and set up parodies on YouTube. Five popular Spanish singers appear in a snowy square of an ancient town singing a make-over of Elvis' You Are Always on my Mind, including an opera singer who sings beautifully, but whose age even an obvious wig cannot obscure. My daughter went to the movies with friends of hers and when they showed the commercial before the movie, everyone in the theater laughed. "Queremos al calvo!" (We want the bald guy!) is something often heard when talking about television this year.
I mentioned earlier that Spaniards are superstitious. The worst ones take and rub their tickets on a pregnant woman's belly or a saint in a church or a statue of a witch, or whatever strange things people consider lucky. The most common is to put a lottery ticket underneath a statue of Saint Pancras, considered the patron saint of fortune, lotteries and those afflicted by poverty. We had a little statue of the saint until one year at Christmas time when, despite having put the tickets underneath it and stuck a sprig of parsley into its hand, we won absolutely nothing. That was when my husband took it and threw it into the woods and declared Saint Pancras persona non grata in our house because it was obvious he wasn't going to help us.
He almost helped us one year, except that my husband thought the number wasn't pretty enough and chose another one. In 2003 the drawing was on a weekday and I had gone to the clinic to get some prescriptions. While I was leaving someone at the reception was laughing and talking excitedly about our town. Outside I found more excited people and I heard that the first prize, El Gordo, had found its way to our town. It had been sold at a local lottery seller's and at a village café. We didn't win it, but relatives and neighbors did and it was a wonderful Christmas that year because our relatives were also generous.
Our luck this year? The truth is I've lost my illusion about winning, though some years I still permit myself to dream. This year, at least, we got some shopping money.
It's not that this drawing has the biggest prizes. It's that the prizes are generally well scattered. People tend to buy décimos, which is a ticket that is a tenth of a number. Numbers are sold in 160 series. In each series there are 100,000 numbers in sets of ten tickets, called a billete. Since an entire billete costs two hundred euros, it's common to buy décimos at twenty euros each. People also buy participaciones, generally at five euros each. A participación is generally sold by a store or association. The biggest prize is four million euros to the billete of the winning number. Since most people buy a tenth that translates to four hundred thousand euros to a décimo and one hundred thousand to a participación. Since the numbers are well distributed, many people can win some money, even if only a hundred euros in what is termed the pedrea, the smaller prizes, which sets off this drawing from others. A lotto-type drawing generally brings big prizes to only a few, but in the Christmas drawing, because of its large range of prizes, there's more of an opportunity to at least win shopping money. The lottery was instituted in 1812 and since then people have been trying their luck at leaving the working class.
The Christmas lottery tickets go on sale in July, but at that moment of the year people are thinking about the beach and not December snow. When sales really pick up is at the end of November and the beginning of December. Some lottery sellers over the years get fame for selling winning tickets and those are the ones where people always line up. One of the most famous selling establishments is Doña Manolita in Madrid, just off Puerta del Sol. When we were there at the beginning of the month we were lucky. Just before closing
Leading up to the drawing, as in any market economy, there are commercials. From 1998 till 2005 the British actor, Clive Arundell, appeared in what are still considered the best lottery commercials in this country. In black and white, evoking Christmases past and with music from Doctor Zhivago in the background, he appeared as a ghost of Christmas distributing luck amongst ordinary people who needed it. He became so popular that whenever he appeared on a Spanish street around Christmas time people have even asked if they could rub their lottery tickets on his head to give them some luck. (Yes, Spaniards are superstitious!) Ever since then people have wanted him back, especially this year. When this year's commercial appeared, people laughed and groaned and set up parodies on YouTube. Five popular Spanish singers appear in a snowy square of an ancient town singing a make-over of Elvis' You Are Always on my Mind, including an opera singer who sings beautifully, but whose age even an obvious wig cannot obscure. My daughter went to the movies with friends of hers and when they showed the commercial before the movie, everyone in the theater laughed. "Queremos al calvo!" (We want the bald guy!) is something often heard when talking about television this year.
I mentioned earlier that Spaniards are superstitious. The worst ones take and rub their tickets on a pregnant woman's belly or a saint in a church or a statue of a witch, or whatever strange things people consider lucky. The most common is to put a lottery ticket underneath a statue of Saint Pancras, considered the patron saint of fortune, lotteries and those afflicted by poverty. We had a little statue of the saint until one year at Christmas time when, despite having put the tickets underneath it and stuck a sprig of parsley into its hand, we won absolutely nothing. That was when my husband took it and threw it into the woods and declared Saint Pancras persona non grata in our house because it was obvious he wasn't going to help us.
He almost helped us one year, except that my husband thought the number wasn't pretty enough and chose another one. In 2003 the drawing was on a weekday and I had gone to the clinic to get some prescriptions. While I was leaving someone at the reception was laughing and talking excitedly about our town. Outside I found more excited people and I heard that the first prize, El Gordo, had found its way to our town. It had been sold at a local lottery seller's and at a village café. We didn't win it, but relatives and neighbors did and it was a wonderful Christmas that year because our relatives were also generous.
Our luck this year? The truth is I've lost my illusion about winning, though some years I still permit myself to dream. This year, at least, we got some shopping money.
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