by anna at 07:01 PM on May 20, 2003
Preachy Bill Bennett's gambling problem reminded me of our ill-fated jaunt to Atlantic City. We got lost in New Jersey. I asked a toll booth guy if he knew how we could get to the AC Expressway. He said, "Dat's for people dat go dare" and promptly turned away. It was all downhill from there.
Upon arrival we were denied entrance to a casino due to our sleeping baby in a papoose. No kids allowed, no exceptions. Never mind that he couldn't pull a slot machine lever let alone roll dice. My wife and I agree that she'll bring him back to the room and I'll gamble. Then we'll switch places.
We're very successful at roulette. Rather than strew chips willy-nilly across the board, we stick with one number (23) and concentrate our side-bets around it. You lose the frequent thrill of having the marker placed on a stack of your chips but in the long run, it is an effective if plodding strategy. Once we got ahead, we quit. To avoid temptation we don't stay at the casino.
Before long towering stacks of $5 chips are piled in front of me. I'm risking $50 on every spin and tipping the waitress $5 for each free drink. Casino officials start approaching me about comp offers that I refuse. A small group is gathered to watch me soak the casino. A gal asked me for my secret. "Just lucky, I guess," I reply. I can feel security cams zeroing in on me.
Despite all my good fortune I feel disenchanted and lonely. I'm painfully aware of the frosty reception awaiting me back at the room. I'm plagued by guilt pangs. On top of that I notice a large, imposing dude staring at me. Soon enough he sidles up and confides that he's had a run of bad luck. I try to ignore him but he's damn persistent. Eventually I slide him a $25 chip just to to get him out of my face. Bad move---I might as well have fed a stray cat. All told he bled me for $75, which he squandered on 3 losing side-bets.
Between my nagging guilt and being hounded by this leach, my gambling experience is ruined. I'm inclined to quit while I'm ahead to the tune of $1,400, but that would entail going down into a dimly lit parking parking garage with that sum in my pocket. Meanwhile the high-rolling beggar is leering at me as if a hyena coveting a lion's kill. So I have the dealer summon security, which arrives in the form of a sawed-off wisp of a lad with pimples and peach fuzz on his chin. Hardly what I had in mind but by then I just needed to escape. My wife had been stuck with our fussy infant for four hours.
So we're in the elevator, me with $1,400 in cash, the scrawny, unarmed punk who's supposedly protecting me and the high-rolling beggar. As it comes to rest the punk bids me a fond adieu, after a snide comment about why I didn't simply stay at the casino-hotel complex ans save myself all this bother. I'm left alone with my nemesis. We walk through the garage without a word. All the while I'm expecting him to produce a switchblade and relieve me of my bounty. And the last thing I needed was to arrive at that emotionally charged motel room empty-handed.
He broke the stony silence as I approached my car: "What's a matter you, little man? You look like you figure I'm out to rob you." "That thought never crossed my mind," I lied.
My wife was less than amused at my anticlimactic tale of woe. Turns out the baby had bawled the whole time and gnawed her raw. We drove home that night in abject silence, never to return.
Thank God for online casinos. No more choking on clouds of second-hand smoke or the odor of nervous sweat. And best of all, no intimidating panhandlers to spoil your evening.
Online or brick 'n mortar, casinos have a built-in edge. Play long enough and you're sure to lose. Given that, I have no idea how they get away with excluding so-called card-counters. These customers are nothing more than skilled blackjack players. Yet they're treated like pariahs at gambling Meccas from AC to Reno. It's like a beauty contest where the cutest chicks are barred from participating.
The fact that they sell 'diapers' at casinos make me so nauseatingly sad and filled with sorrow. Never count your money while your sitting at the table. That's what I did in the Big24Hr U.S. Treasury Casino. And so now, I count in Negative numbers. But nobody really cares. Just me. And you know fucking what, I don't think I care anymore either...
by LOCKHEED at May 20, 2003 8:30 PM
ANNA, I need the webaddress for the best online, most efficient, trustworthy casino, preferably BLACKJACK. I'm gonna burn so more money. THANKS.
by LOCKHEED at May 21, 2003 3:49 PM
Um, Anna, I urge you to not honor Lockheed's request.
Bad Lockheed! Bad!
by Linz at May 21, 2003 4:16 PM
we have three casinos in council bluffs and one of them has a daycare. and just when you thought that was bad enough... its 24 hour daycare.
by eff at May 21, 2003 4:18 PM
Sorry Linz but I must say we've had great success @ Golden Palace.com. Problem is, when you win they won't send your money immediately. They figure you'll be back. And oftentimes they're right.
Also, there's a fib in the post. We did go back there once we found out about the daycare deal. This nice chick came to our room and watched the boy. They had Nintendo and Sega piped in somehow. He was happy as a clam. But we lost big-time and that doesn't make for a very entertaining story.
by anna at May 21, 2003 6:20 PM
These comments aren't working. Just wrote a long one. Lucky for you badsemites, it didn't go through. Sorry Linz, I won't play again, for a while at least. Had an itch to scratch, because I called in sick for work. Within an hour of nothingness, I need the game... And if it wasn't for me logging on to BadSam and reading Anna's post, I wouldn't have done this.
Recap: It wasn't fun. $1000 to start. Widdle $1000 to $10 in about a minute, they expect me to lose the remaining chickenscratch and walk, but I know the game, so I put another $1000 down professional... rattling bones, ghosts of foxwoods-mohegan sun days past...not forgotten...skeletons in the closet, lockheed heard their teeth, dry chopping, bone upon bone, wants flesh... we've been waiting for your return, young man...
Had to grind for an hour to get $1980, then the big one... $700 bet, I light a cigarette for atmosphere, Lock gets a 10, dealer gets 3, oh yeah, I double down... $1400, Lock gets face card, stand, dealer 3...9...face, dealer bust, lockheed wins. $3380, profit $1380, hit cash out button. But it doesn't matter. Angrier than before I played. Angrier than when I was first out a $1000. Cursing at a goddamn pixelated computer screen, I hate you, your very essence, I walk, you fucking scum... I WALK!!! Fucking online casino! Fuck them. Fuck the skeletons, I smack them both, knock their teeth out... Oh, yeah, yeah, you want me play more? Reaching for that plastic... reaching for the plastic... NO. Not today kid. I fucked you. I fucked you good.
by LUCKHEED at May 21, 2003 7:54 PM
ALOHA, IM STILL IN AWE OF GOLDEN BUYING A GRILLED CHEESE, DID THAT LADY EVER SELL THE FRYING PAN?, I HAVE SOME VERY EXPENSIVE PAINTINGS TO SELL GOLDEN WOULD LOVE THESE, BEING THERE ARE NO MORE MADE, BY CHRISTIAN LASSEN AND WYLAND INFO ON EBAY EBAY NAME mthawaii check it out if you wanna. I have a hawks bill turtle shell for sell dont know where to sell it its extinct and I cant sell it on ebay. what to do?
by Victoria Reynolda at May 11, 2005 5:19 AM