Even if you live in a busy area or you travel often, you can probably appreciate that in quieter areas, a Publix or other super market, especially long-established ones, have very familiar regulars, like any longtime business establishment. Working there for years, you cannot know them all, certainly know few very well, but you are more familiar with lots of customers than in more bustling spots (due to the number of people and greater shopping options).
In small places, and O-b-t-S is still very mellow and small, you quickly learn that your neighbors are coworkers and customers, and they all know the people who own or work in other nearby businesses, and so on. It's less bustling than in, say, central Tampa or Miami or other places -- you're seeing familiar faces more often in the same places. Back then, aside from convenience stores and one small market, in O-b-t-S the Publix -- did I mention it was just across the street from the ocean? -- was the only local place to buy groceries.
So folks are gossiping in that silly, chatty manner we are all guilty of, simply wondering who the lucky person is in Zephyhills. But in a small city like that, it's a more local feeling, more tangible, feels more like a personal anecdote would, than in bigger places: they are excited because it's quite possible someone they know is the big winner, someone who's already come to the store, walked past and is now figuring out how to keep a normal life. Yet for the neighbors of the winner (assuming it was a local), it's still a big, intriguing secret. It's the kind of intrigue within a small municipality that comes from not many things. No matter who it is, it feels closer to home than one out of a million neighbors hitting it rich in a metropolis.
When I worked at that Publix, a long time ago, a nice woman, a familiar customer, entered the store and, with a serious look in her eye took me aside near the entrance. She was familiar enough with employees at the store to know who the big gossips were. She figured me to not be among that group (and, really, she was right).
She said, in a quiet, serious tone, in effect: I have a serious heart condition, so it is important that I do not get excited; I've won a large amount of money in the lottery; I need you to help me do this very calmly and quietly. As I recall it, she told me she hadn't even told family for fear of the excitement it would have inspired in a few of them, for fear of her own health condition.
Well, I took that mission. I brought her, as unexcited as possible (I was very happy for her, but held a poker face) to the store office. I told her to relax, I'd do everything I could for her. I asked for the cashier in charge. I explained, as dryly as I could, that she was concerned about her health and wanted to cash in the ticket.
As I recall, the matter of her winning ticket was handled as drably as possible, and she soon made her way out. It turned out that the older female customer with the heart condition had won something like $110,000. That was more than 20 years ago, so it was even less of a chump change amount than today. It was later revealed that she had won, of course, and the talk traveled, and I got some respect and some teasing for keeping my mouth shut about it.
From my bit part in that much smaller winning, I can appreciate the excitement that the much more sizable bounty is bringing about in Zephyrhills, to those who know, and those who don't know and will find out, soon enough.
Here's a piece from the AP on the intrigue surrounding $500-million plus winning:
Florida city wonders who won the lottery jackpot - Yahoo! News
"Being in a small town, everybody knows everybody and in some cases, everybody's business," said Dave Walters, a longtime reporter at the Zephyrhills News community newspaper. "It's hard to keep a secret in this town, but this is one of the biggest mysteries we've had in a long, long time."
Zephyrhills, population 13,337, is about 30 miles northeast of downtown Tampa. Like many Florida communities, it features a small, old-timey downtown strip where restaurants, gift shops and clothing stores sit under a canopy of oak trees. Around the city's perimeter, there's the suburban sprawl of big box stores. It was in that sprawl, at a Publix supermarket, where the winning ticket was sold.
Rumors were swirling about who the winner could be: Publix deli employees, single moms working at Wal-Mart — even the cousin of a friend of a guy who lived clear in another county.
"Anybody who did not show up for work on that Monday was considered to be the lottery winner," Walters said. "If you had the flu and didn't show up for work, everyone thought you were the lottery winner. If you took a personal day or a sick day, they thought you had won the lottery."
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