For three strange days
I had no obligations
My mind was a blur
I didn’t know what to do
I think I lost myself
When I lost my motivation
Now I’m walking ’round the city
Just waiting to come to
From three strange days.
Three Strange Days
School of Fish
Greeting from Las Vegas. I hope you are all well.
* * *
Slot machines are for old ladies and people too lazy to apply some simple math. Everyone knows that! My friend and I, both sophisticated gamblers, were three sheets to the wind from several glasses of pretty good red wine and decided to prove, once and for all, just what a boring waste of time it is to play slot machines. We pooled our resources ($50 each) and bellied up to a $1 Wheel of Fortune slot machine. It’s a silly device that allows for a bonus payout each time a “spin” icon appears. A wheel of fortune is automatically activated and spins round and round, usually paying out an additional $20 or $30 dollars. Don’t make me laugh. You can do better than that on one simple roll of the dice.
After several eye-rolling, we-told-you-so pulls of the lever, feeling quite vindicated and proud of our prejudices, this came up:
That’s $1,000. So, as you can clearly see, playing slots is a boring wast of time that never nets you any kind of real
payout. Losers. Leave it to the professionals.
So I have to eat my words while on vacation, too? Don’t I get enough of that at home?
* * *
I’ve seem some pretty tragic cases since landing here. We had a big guffaw over some kids who got in way over their heads at the bar and, literally, had to be carried down the aisle. This place is crawling with amateur drunks and people gambling with mortgage money. We had a long, interesting, conversation with an old guy who visits prostitutes on a regular basis (it’s legal here). But here’s what has to be the saddest thing I’ve seen so far:
Teach your children well, indeed. How extraordinarily selfish. Dad won’t be denied his time playing slot machines so he plops his adorable, innocent young daughter in his lap and makes her play, too. What kind of imprint do you suppose is being made on this poor kid’s mind? Gambling will forever trigger feelings of parental love and acceptance.
I should know. My dad used to play football pools with household funds, even though we were economically challenged. He started giving me football chits to play when I was a young teen. Filling out football pools were the only conversations we ever had. It certainly wasn’t abuse—that’s not what I’m implying— but if you ask Dr. Freud why I love gambling so much, what do you suppose he would hypothesize?
On the other hand, it got me $500 richer yesterday, so maybe I owe him.