— “Look at the tail so sonmother” — says a man who shows the most representative places in the center of Madrid to a tourist who visits him for the first time.
This is one of the lines that has become another element of Christmas in the city center.
— “And people come from six in the morning, they bring a seat and a blanket, and they sit down to wait for it to open” — he adds, while pointing towards the entrance, crowded on a December afternoon, of the largest lottery administration. famous in Spain.
That there are people queuing—three hours on average, last Wednesday—to buy at Doña Manolita is not new, but that does not prevent passersby who come across this spectacle from wondering, every year, what drives Madrid residents and tourists to invest. several hours of their lives to buy a tenth that has the same chances of being awarded as one purchased in any other administration or online.
Leonardo Osorio, a Madrid resident born in Colombia 31 years ago, remembers “the only time” he was able to buy the “fast” ticket: he waited an hour and a half. A nonsense for some, a more or less pleasant experience for others. There are even those who talk about “having fun”.
“I do it in honor of my grandfather.”
It is unusual to find a young person on their own in line for the lottery. However, there is Francisco Macho, 19 years old, listening to music while waiting for his turn. He laughs when asked if his friends also play the lottery: “They are more from betting houses and casinos.” It is the first time he has come and he arrived an hour and twenty minutes ago. He goes to the middle of the line. “This year is special. My grandfather died and I am doing it in honor of him, who always shopped here,” he says.
Francisco Macho’s grandfather came every year, without fail and accompanied by his wife, to buy a tenth that ended in 4, 5 or 6. “He had his little tricks; “He was very smart,” says Francisco and says that “sometimes he won a prize of a thousand euros or so.” When his turn comes, Francisco will buy a tenth with one of those endings “in honor” of his grandfather. Until then, he puts on his headphones and returns to his waiting.
“You make friends in the queue, it’s fun”
A blue jacket, a pink jacket, a yellow jacket. An incessant conversation. And very noisy. María San Cipriano (58 years old), Carmen Ordóñez (54) and Claudia Fernández (67) could have met at school decades ago, but they did so “exactly an hour ago” in line to buy their lottery tickets. The first says that she has been coming to wait in line at Doña Manolita for 11 years; the second, which is five years ago and the last of this trio has been coming for 14.
“Well, it’s the illusion that it’s your turn and because we have nothing better to do,” says Claudia, the one in yellow, who laughs, giving rise to the laughter of her newly met companions. The three are used as an example that “they become friends in the queue.” “We talk about everything a little, you have to do it, because if not, it will take longer,” says Carmen, in pink. None of them have a specific number they play, nor are they sure which one they are going to ask for when they enter the store. They only know that they share a belief: they believe that if they had come in August—because the lottery can be purchased in the summer without having to wait in such a line in the cold—they would never win a prize. “In August it probably won’t be playing!” says María, in blue, “because the Christmas spirit isn’t there.” “Maybe it’s not our turn now either, but we’ll come back, next year we’ll come back,” he concludes. And they laugh again.
“Doña Manolita reminds me what life was like before in Madrid”
Decades ago, around this same time, Amalia Garrido (74 years old) left the hotel where she worked as a receptionist and walked to number 31 Gran Vía to the old Doña Manolita location—where she stayed until 2011, when she moved to 22 Carmen Street. I bought a Christmas lottery ticket and went down to Puerta del Sol to eat a Neapolitan from the La Mallorquina bakery. “That was 50 years ago,” he says, while adjusting the blue, plush earmuffs he wears, just a few meters from the current location. He says that life and the city have changed a lot in those last five decades and that he likes to remember them by buying a lottery ticket in Doña Manolita.
“It is a tradition, we have a lot of love for it and a lot of roots,” he says. What he doesn’t like, he objects, is the line. “It wasn’t like that before,” he laments, but repeating that tradition helps him “remember what life was like before in Madrid.” In any case, his faith (which is madness for those who pass by the line in amazement) is more powerful than the pain in his feet and the 50 years of little success playing the Christmas Lottery.
“We come because this is where it’s time”
They are the last in line. They know they have three hours ahead of them. The clouds appear increasingly dense and gray. But Roxana (57 years old) and Carmen Núñez (54) are happy. These Peruvian sisters arrived in Madrid 32 years ago and have been playing the Christmas lottery ever since, always at Doña Manolita. The first tenth was given to Roxana by her first boss, when she was working in a house in Madrid as a domestic worker, having recently arrived in Spain. “It is tradition that your boss gives you your first Christmas ticket,” he says. Her sister says that they come year after year because “this is where El Gordo plays,” even though neither of them has ever won the prize of 400,000 euros for tenth place or one of the so-called minor prizes.
In a few minutes they are no longer the last in line, but they have not moved an inch. It is the queue that lengthens incessantly, welcoming people who, like them, are practically sure that they will not win anything, but who cling to a tiny possibility – each series has 100,000 tickets and of the 100,000 balls that enter the drum with lottery numbers, there is only one with the jackpot number—and it will keep coming.
“My boyfriend convinced me to come”
With a long coat and gloves, Oana Mursan, who has lived in Madrid for 14 years and was born 32 years ago in Romania, warms her wait. She has been playing the lottery for a long time, but she used to buy it, along with her boyfriend, at the administrations closest to her house. He is about to spend an hour in line and admits that he would have preferred to continue buying his tickets in his neighborhood, without lines. “My boyfriend convinced me to come,” she explains. “He works, I book, so it was my turn to come,” he adds.
To avoid getting bored, he uses videos on Instagram and, in any case, points out that there is something special about this Lottery administration: “There is so much talk about this place and it is where it usually plays, so the truth is it doesn’t bother me.” “The illusion,” he says, smiling and protecting the lower part of his face from the cold in his coat.
