I wanted to go back. Fortunately, Since that first time with my dad and sister, I’ve rarely won, and never as much as I did on my first attempt. If I pour money into a machine, I feel depressed because I lose it. If I don’t pour money into a machine, I feel depressed because I am resisting a driving compulsion to play. I lose my first twenty dollars, then wander aimlessly around the casino floor arguing with myself, wondering what I am going to do for the next few hours. “Oh c’mon,” I urge myself, “What’s another $20?” Sometimes I give in, and break my second twenty. I rationalize that if I play the nickel and the penny machines, my money will last longer. But then there is the reality that in order to win, you really have to bet more “lines” and multiply your winnings x2, x3 and more. When a single pull of the lever yields close to a dollar deducted from my credits, I pull myself up sharply and remind myself that if I am going to be that frivolous, I might as well be playing the dollar slots. And that’s not happening.
Sometimes I do not give into the urge, but find a stool that nobody wants for the moment and sit and watch other people as unobtrusively as possible. I am always struck by the intensity with which some people work those machines – some two at once. Some seem to be doing really well with that strategy and I wonder if they will stop when/if they are ahead. Many look older than I – some much more so. Some are attached to oxygen tanks. Even though they usually look like they know what they are doing, I worry. I wonder where their money comes from, if they are independently wealthy or dependent only on social security, and I wonder what will happen if they lose all their money. I wonder if they have been gambling all their lives or if they are relative newcomers to a novel and exciting way to spend their time.
There’s always the chance I can win. There’s a greater probability that I won’t. The times I’ve sat and watched three 7s (or whatever) almost line up in a row, I realized how easy it is to believe that they’ve just got to land on the same line sooner or later. I’ve learned from my research that slot machines are the most addictive of all gambling types, and that when one’s first experience is a win, there is a greater likelihood of trouble down the road. It wasn’t long ago that I realized my casino depression occurred because I was constantly trying to recreate the feelings of that magical day in Atlantic City Atlantic City to the south, there are Connecticut Yonkers Tioga
Lucky [!] for me – although I totally “get” the allure of a slot machine and have experienced its magnetic pull, often with great conflict, I won’t be getting into trouble. There is the legacy of my risk-averse mother. There is my penchant for analyzing every feeling I have that I don’t understand. And there is my patient ability to delay gratification – hence, as I go about my business locally, traveling across the state, or in my old hometown, I consider the possibility of stopping and throwing away just a little money and say, “Maybe another time.” Maybe – not. And there is the text message I’ve saved that was sent to me a few year’s ago from a friend. Upon getting my text that I was “up $50” while on vacation and in a casino, he had sent one back to me – I look at it, as needed - it says, “Walk away now. Exclamation point.”
Very nice writing, Jan!
ReplyDeleteI have this thing about shoes,I want them to look just right; and the older I get,the more my poor feet need special shoes.
ReplyDeleteI've discovered some pretty pricey shoes that treat my feet just right. So I buy those shoes, and keep them for a long time.
Today, I found an even pricier line of shoes that felt fabulous and I knew they would be kind to my feet. I found myself, heart beating fast, wondering about ratcheting up the shoe budget.
Do I dare walk down this alley?
What does it say about me?
Our relationship to money..., tossing it at shoes or slots; in the end I said no to the shoes.
For today...,
yeah....I too have terrible feet, mostly due to heredity. Shoes are one of those items that I have always hated to spend money on. One time, desperate for a pair that didn't make me crazy with pain, I went to a specialty shoe store where for several hundred dollars they created custom orthotics for me. And then wanted to sell me a pair of $300 shoes. I still remember the phone call I made to my daughter from the street, wondering if I had absolutely lost my mind to even consider paying that much money for a pair of shoes.
ReplyDeleteNice story Jan... I once as a traveling musician spent my entire paycheck in Las Vega. The slot machines won... I was so young and naive, but I learned my lesson and will never go back. I purchase a Mega Million ticket each week just for kicks and giggles...
ReplyDeleteJim
Gee, I sure feel guilty. But I guess it's all about moderation. If you can afford the shoes, buy them. If not, got to Payless. If you can afford to blow some cash and the casino and you get a thrill, no harm (I look upon it as the cost for a day's entertainment). But don't bet the rent and don't do either if they do not give you pleasure.
ReplyDeleteYou are absolutely correct. It is all about moderation, conscious awareness, and choices. No need to feel guilty, FC. We all have those voices in our heads that whisper (or shout) prohibitions and we each have to answer to them in our own ways. For some, gambling becomes a real and dangerous addiction. For others (you, me, Karen, Jim) it won't. I haven't visited my last casino for sure as I agree that it can be seen as the cost of a day's entertainment. I may always argue with myself about what I'm comfortable feeding a machine and I may always wrestle with my internal obsessive compulsive drives toward repetitive motion, but it helps that I've figured out why I often feel so ambivalent about the experience.
ReplyDelete