On Gambling

For some reason, this summer I have found myself at casinos quite frequently. Whether is a family crab-leg dinner, a vacation to Vegas or Deadwood, or just meeting up with a best friend on her trip home, I’ve had my share of the neon lights and bells the past few weeks. So, naturally, I now have a theory.

And is there a better place for life metaphors than a casino? They’re the metaphorical jackpot if you will. I mean think about it, where else will people pay money to waste their time? Actually there are a few recent concerts and movies I can think of, but I digress. My point is that you can tell a lot about a person by what they expect from a slot machine.

You have some people, like my dad, who expect to win. People who are borderline shocked when they don’t see a triple-7 all night. And then there are some people, like myself and my mom, who don’t really care to play, but when we do, we expect to lose. We play the game because it’s crazy and maybe there is a tiny part of us that thinks perhaps the world owes us something and Providence intends to make amends with 80 quarters. Then there are a rare few who come in with no expectations. (Wouldn’t it be nice if life worked that way? You wake up neither a pessimist nor an optimist. I wonder what a person could discover if they had a clean slate every day.) But no matter what we expect of the machine, we all pull the lever.

In the end, I’m a gambling pessimist. A pessimist who likes to have fun. So with slot machines—and with life—I guess I just bet the max until I hit zero all while trying to have a good time with good people.