Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Today was an exciting milestone for me. Today I got to hang out with a resident outside the Soldiers Home. Even better: at a casino!
Every week, residents can choose from dozens of activity options. Some, like trivia or Bingo, take place at the Home; others are field trips: Residents load onto a bus and head out for a day of shopping, or golfing, or dining out. And once a month or so, that bus heads for the Muckleshoot Casino in Auburn.
Before we left for Las Vegas, Gary had told me about his last trip there. It was an inspiring story: He had won more than $300 on a penny slot machine. I decided then and there that I wanted to gamble with Gary. He and Wesley and I had prearranged today’s meeting time and place: 11 a.m., right where the nonsmoking casino descends into the smoky pit of many vices. I had said I’d love to buy them lunch, but Gary was not biting.
"We go there to gamble, not to eat," he said.
He is a man who means what he says.
I got there at 11:01, inexcusably late by Soldiers Home standards, but Gary was still close by (Wesley didn’t come, after all). Gary was playing his lucky machine, and he was winning. I am crazy-allergic to cigarette smoke, so I tried to lure him into the less-toxic gambling area, but every time I made my case, he’d win big. (I did realize this was Gary’s field trip, and not mine, so I wasn’t horribly rude about it.)
But then he won big enough that he could take a breather. I introduced him to my favorite penny slot, where he promptly won big, again. I told him that every single time I go gambling, everyone with me and around me wins, but I do not. I told him that tends to make me slightly bitter and resentful. He told me to quit my bellyaching, and I won $11.
We moved on to another game, where there was only one machine available. Gary took it, I stood next to him and immediately—immediately!—the guy in the seat right next to Gary won $450. "You sure you don’t want some lunch now?" I asked Gary. He did not.
But Mr. $450 apparently had sucked all the goodwill out of the machines, so we went back to Gary’s lucky game in the smoking area. One entire wall is filled with these slots, and sure enough, the only occupied spot was Gary’s machine. He tried Option 2, but it clicked too loudly. Option 3 did, too—but once it started pouring hundreds of credits into Gary’s bank, he was able to overlook it.
"I think you’ve found your spot," I told him.
He promised a winnings report at the next Bingo, and I left him there, well in the black. On one hand, it was just a very fun afternoon with a very fun friend, but on the other hand, it was so much more. Fact, I’ve been a little giddy ever since—even though I ended up down $6.
Today was an exciting milestone for me. Today I got to hang out with a resident outside the Soldiers Home. Even better: at a casino!
Every week, residents can choose from dozens of activity options. Some, like trivia or Bingo, take place at the Home; others are field trips: Residents load onto a bus and head out for a day of shopping, or golfing, or dining out. And once a month or so, that bus heads for the Muckleshoot Casino in Auburn.
Before we left for Las Vegas, Gary had told me about his last trip there. It was an inspiring story: He had won more than $300 on a penny slot machine. I decided then and there that I wanted to gamble with Gary. He and Wesley and I had prearranged today’s meeting time and place: 11 a.m., right where the nonsmoking casino descends into the smoky pit of many vices. I had said I’d love to buy them lunch, but Gary was not biting.
"We go there to gamble, not to eat," he said.
He is a man who means what he says.
I got there at 11:01, inexcusably late by Soldiers Home standards, but Gary was still close by (Wesley didn’t come, after all). Gary was playing his lucky machine, and he was winning. I am crazy-allergic to cigarette smoke, so I tried to lure him into the less-toxic gambling area, but every time I made my case, he’d win big. (I did realize this was Gary’s field trip, and not mine, so I wasn’t horribly rude about it.)
But then he won big enough that he could take a breather. I introduced him to my favorite penny slot, where he promptly won big, again. I told him that every single time I go gambling, everyone with me and around me wins, but I do not. I told him that tends to make me slightly bitter and resentful. He told me to quit my bellyaching, and I won $11.
We moved on to another game, where there was only one machine available. Gary took it, I stood next to him and immediately—immediately!—the guy in the seat right next to Gary won $450. "You sure you don’t want some lunch now?" I asked Gary. He did not.
But Mr. $450 apparently had sucked all the goodwill out of the machines, so we went back to Gary’s lucky game in the smoking area. One entire wall is filled with these slots, and sure enough, the only occupied spot was Gary’s machine. He tried Option 2, but it clicked too loudly. Option 3 did, too—but once it started pouring hundreds of credits into Gary’s bank, he was able to overlook it.
"I think you’ve found your spot," I told him.
He promised a winnings report at the next Bingo, and I left him there, well in the black. On one hand, it was just a very fun afternoon with a very fun friend, but on the other hand, it was so much more. Fact, I’ve been a little giddy ever since—even though I ended up down $6.
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