A Casino Run Is Best by Foot

Like the proverbial rose, a casino by any other name is still a casino. It cries, “Show me the money.” I made my first trip to a Massachusetts casino the other day. It’s located in a small town called Plainville and at any given time, there’s more people playing the slots than you’d find walking the streets. You might say that curiosity brought me here. Actually, it was a Christmas gift I gave my wife with a night at the Holiday Inn nearby. A side trip to Gillette Stadium days before the Patriots were playing the Chiefs was an added inducement. The wind chill was single digits so we were basically alone. It only gave us more time to work the machines. Win or lose, it’s bound to fulfill some recreational needs. I have two views on casinos. Now, I haven’t traveled the country playing Blackjack and feeding the slots. But I’ve been to Connecticut a few times to Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun along with three trips to Las Vegas. It has been entertaining, provided you know your limitations and take it in stride. Casinos are good in some respects. They employ people and bring some economic stature to a community. Tourism is always good, even if it’s a one-stop betting parlor. Transport busses unload their players and seniors welcome a day away from their humble surroundings. The liability, of course, is sucking the money out of people who can ill afford it. I watched a man hit the $5 button on his machine in ricochet fashion. The establishment was rather cute this day. They offered you a free Powerball ticket with a $500 give-away prize, provided you stuck around until 10 pm for the drawing. With five or six hours to spare, think of the cash people on standby would exhaust? It bothers me a little when I see money blown at casinos when there are so many indigent people in this country. Families in dire situations can’t afford the rent but somehow have enough in reserve to whisk it away senselessly. Hey, recreation is one thing. Compulsiveness is another. The same guy working the $5 machine to death was there again the next day at the very same spot playing the maximum. Nonetheless, our sojourn ended, and we were happily on our way home shortly after entering a speed machine contest and declining another 5-hour wait to catch the results. It’s a good thing I am not gullible. Otherwise, I would claim my Mercedes or $40,000 cash equivalent and head out to a Caribbean island on an all-expense-paid cruise to secure my prize. A gambler I am not. Okay, I gambled on love and won a bride of 50 years. I enjoy a harmless game of stud poker with the guys at church once a month, but anything above a dime ante is too rich for my blood. Win a couple. Lose a couple. Either way, it’s a night of merriment. We share a few laughs, some gossip, and go about our merry way at game’s end. I had to laugh at my first ever trip to Foxwoods. Money was no objective at the Blackjack table. I swallowed hard—and I was a mere bystander. “We never close,” read the sign. I had to laugh. Drop the “c” and what do you get? If you want to win money at any casino, throw the dice—as far away as possible. I began making mental bets at the card table and wound up losing my mind. In any case, the $50 between us soon melted away and I headed unsteadily into the washroom to cool off when I found a quarter on the floor. An urge told me to put it into another slot machine I didn’t play and pull the lever. As luck would have it, three cherries appeared and money came rolling out. I love the sound of coins hitting the receptacle (ching! ching!) like I broke the bank or something. People gaze at you with envy, especially the person next seat over who had just left that machine. You’re only one pop away from going broke or hitting a jackpot. At church one Sunday, I inadvertently dropped a poker chip into the collection plate after ridding myself of pocket change. Hastening to the vestry after service, I found a trustee counting out the money. “This is embarrassing,” I told him. “I put some sort of button into the plate by mistake. See if you can find it, please.” The man poked around until he found the chip. “Thanks a lot,” I said. ”I’m glad to get it back. It’s a sort of keepsake from Vegas. Here’s a dollar instead.” “Not so fast,” he snapped. “I know your game. That’s a blue chip. And it’ll cost you $10.”

A Casino Run Is Best by Foot

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Tom Vartabedian

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This story is FREE for you...

Tom Vartabedian

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