Lottery ticket sales are at rock bottom. So Supreme Ventures has resorted to the oldest trick in the trade: turning tricks. Their print advertisement for the regional Super Lotto looks like nothing short of prostitution. Just think about it. The headline reads, 'The biggest draws in the Caribbean'. Below, there's this 'mampi-size draws', made up of 10 $1,000 bills hanging on a line.

Poor Michael Manley's sober face heroically decorates the undergarment. Some would say it's poetic justice: a notorious womaniser, with a mighty rod of correction, forced to bow low. Hugh Shearer's 'duppy' must be quite happy that the new $5,000 bill is not yet in circulation. It would have been his face all over the 'draws'.

Supreme Ventures has ventured into supremely dangerous territory. The slimy mixture of underpants and money sleazily reinforces the popular perception that selling sex is a good way to earn a living. The world's oldest profession used to be the exclusive domain of women. But, these days, prostitution is gender neutral.

Men have increasingly asserted their right to equal opportunity and now engage in transactional sex with both women and other men. Men also wear undergarments that once were designed for women only - thongs, G-strings, and the like. Old-fashioned notions of gender-appropriate 'draws' have been ripped to pieces. All 'draws' are now created equal.

Gender and class distinctions

But there's a complication. Though the picture of the 'draws' in the Super Lotto advertisement seems gender neutral, the language certainly is not. The Jamaican word 'draws' comes from the English 'drawers'. Over time, the meaning of the local word has been refined, or not - depending on your class and language politics.

Old-fashioned English drawers were long underpants. The knee-length version that was popular in Jamaica well into the last century was made out of calico or flour bags and had a drawstring waist. These homemade drawers, worn by both men and women, have gone out of style. Underpants have become shorter and shorter, often disappearing into the cracks.

Unlike unisex English drawers, Jamaican 'draws' are gender specific, 'man wear brief an 'oman wear draws'. And, in our rigid social hierarchy, it is lower-class women who wear 'draws.' Middle-class women wear panties and upper-class women wear undies.

So the 'draws' of the lottery advertisement explicitly marks gender and class distinctions. What message is the lottery company sending to women (and men) by using working-class female underwear to sell both sex and tickets for a game of chance? Who is the target market? And is the bottom line all that matters? Especially when it's the female bottom on the front line?

We know that sex sells. And it will 'sell off' even more in a frowsy advertisement with a big 'draws' that many people might actually find funny. Some bright advertising executive must have thought that punning on 'draws' was a clever idea. It stinks!

I do concede that proverbial wisdom affirms that 'oman luck deh a dungle'. This tricky Jamaican proverb highlights the role of luck and sex in determining female fate. Louise Bennett elaborates this traditional conviction in her poem 'Jamaica Oman':

For 'Oman luck deh a dungle',

Some rooted more dan some,

But as long as fowl a scratch

dungle heap

Oman luck mus come!

Embedded in this proverb is a gender ideology that asserts that women's good fortune can be found in the most unlikely places - such as her 'draws.' If you are an attractive woman, you could be minding your own business walking to work, and this knight in shining armour, driving a luxury SUV, could stop and unexpectedly sweep you off your feet. That's the luck of the draw/s.

Pie in the sky

But are these the outdated values we want to hug up in these enlightened times? Shouldn't women be seen as more than our private parts and seductive undergarments? Is a 'draws' full of money what it is really all about? And should we depend on 'luck' to improve our fortune? What happened to good, old-fashioned hardwork?

The likelihood of anyone winning $180 million with a $250 'investment' is next to zero. Look at all the noughts! That should tell you. To believe 'yes, we can' takes much more faith than even Barack Obama could muster.

But some people are addicted to games of chance, no matter how slim their chances of winning. Twice per week they will spend the minimum ticket price of $250. That's $500 per week for 52 weeks - all of $26,000! And some diehard optimists will buy more than one ticket. They will end up spending quite a lot of money for pie in the sky.

Even with the modest interest rates that the commercial banks are offering, you would be better off saving your money than buying a lottery ticket. You could even invest in a little business. And if you pooled your resources with only three other people, you would have over $100,000 that you could use wisely to make a profit.

Supreme Ventures expects to earn $3,000,000,000,000 each year from the regional lottery. All those noughts are not really nought. 'Is nuff money dat.' The biggest winner in the Super Lotto will be the lottery company. And that's the only sure bet.

Carolyn Cooper is professor of literary and cultural studies at the University of the West Indies, Mona. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com.