Thursday, January 12, 2012
Gary told me last night they’d start loading the bus around 9 this morning, so I figured I’d meet him at the Muckleshoot Casino around 9:30 or so.
Well, alert the media and stop the presses: For once, I was someplace before the Soldiers Home people.
I got to the casino about 9:15 and asked three helpful employees where the bus would unload. They all pointed at once, so I headed that way, lingered a while and then grew a little restless. So, I figured I’d practice gambling a little, and maybe have encouraging stories of gigantic jackpots to share once they got there. Or not.
I gambled a little, wandered back to the bus door, gambled a little more—and lost $20 before a single resident set foot in the casino. Discouraged and feeling like a literal loser, I plunked on a bench and, all of a sudden, in walked Gary S. (not the Gary I had planned to meet).
“Hey! Is the bus here?” I asked, obviously dumbed-down from pathetic-ness. Yes, Gary told me, not at all as if I were an idiot; everyone else would be right in.
Right on cue, in rolled the Gary I had planned to meet. I hugged him, and the man standing next to me said to Gary, “Fine. Don’t even say hi.”
I gave Gary a weird look and asked, “Do you know everyone here?”
“So far,” Gary said. I really, really like hanging around with Gary.
I asked Gary who else had come. Then I saw Dorothy walking in and waved hi.
“You can stand here and be the Welcome Wagon,” Gary said. “But I’m going to gamble.”
Gary made a beeline for the blackjack table, where I watched—and learned. For example, I learned I was not supposed to mention out loud that Gary was making quite a profit. Or that a five-card 21 pays 2-to-1. (“No kidding,” Gary said.) And when I said, “Ouch” when Gary was dealt a 12, I should not have. The basic lesson, as far as I can tell: Zip it.
At one point the guy who said hi to Gary at the door walked by, pushing Lyle from the Soldiers Home. That explained one thing. I saw Roy, too, and Erin from Activities, but I think most residents headed for the smoking section, and I am very allergic to smoke.
Knowing that, Gary promised he’d “go play those stupid slots” with me in the nonsmoking section, and when we left the blackjack table I noticed he had many more chips than when he started, but I didn’t mention that out loud.
We both lost money on the stingy penny Hot Shots, where we struggled with our rewards cards (they really don’t make those insertion slots very easy to find)—and with moving two-ton chairs out of the way for his electric scooter (they really don’t make those chairs very portable).
I asked Gary whether he likes having more of a sense of control at the table games. And he does. But still, he appeased me with a stab at the Fireball slots, where he won more than $40 last time we met here—and where, all of a sudden, I made back all I’d just lost plus the $20 I’d lost earlier and ended up with a total profit of—wait for it … 37 cents. Profit!
“Well, I’m done,” I said to Gary. He thought I was kidding. I wasn’t. I offered to buy him lunch, but he said, as I thought he might, “I didn’t come here to eat. I came here to gamble.”
I had errands to run, so I cashed out and told Gary I was thrilled I wasn’t a loser.
“You didn’t win enough to mail an envelope,” he laughed.
I hugged him goodbye at the entrance to the smoking section, and I told him I wanted a full report on his winnings on Friday, before Bingo.
“This is where your good luck starts,” I told him. I am totally expecting him to share encouraging stories of gigantic jackpots.
Gary told me last night they’d start loading the bus around 9 this morning, so I figured I’d meet him at the Muckleshoot Casino around 9:30 or so.
Well, alert the media and stop the presses: For once, I was someplace before the Soldiers Home people.
I got to the casino about 9:15 and asked three helpful employees where the bus would unload. They all pointed at once, so I headed that way, lingered a while and then grew a little restless. So, I figured I’d practice gambling a little, and maybe have encouraging stories of gigantic jackpots to share once they got there. Or not.
I gambled a little, wandered back to the bus door, gambled a little more—and lost $20 before a single resident set foot in the casino. Discouraged and feeling like a literal loser, I plunked on a bench and, all of a sudden, in walked Gary S. (not the Gary I had planned to meet).
“Hey! Is the bus here?” I asked, obviously dumbed-down from pathetic-ness. Yes, Gary told me, not at all as if I were an idiot; everyone else would be right in.
Right on cue, in rolled the Gary I had planned to meet. I hugged him, and the man standing next to me said to Gary, “Fine. Don’t even say hi.”
I gave Gary a weird look and asked, “Do you know everyone here?”
“So far,” Gary said. I really, really like hanging around with Gary.
I asked Gary who else had come. Then I saw Dorothy walking in and waved hi.
“You can stand here and be the Welcome Wagon,” Gary said. “But I’m going to gamble.”
Gary made a beeline for the blackjack table, where I watched—and learned. For example, I learned I was not supposed to mention out loud that Gary was making quite a profit. Or that a five-card 21 pays 2-to-1. (“No kidding,” Gary said.) And when I said, “Ouch” when Gary was dealt a 12, I should not have. The basic lesson, as far as I can tell: Zip it.
At one point the guy who said hi to Gary at the door walked by, pushing Lyle from the Soldiers Home. That explained one thing. I saw Roy, too, and Erin from Activities, but I think most residents headed for the smoking section, and I am very allergic to smoke.
Knowing that, Gary promised he’d “go play those stupid slots” with me in the nonsmoking section, and when we left the blackjack table I noticed he had many more chips than when he started, but I didn’t mention that out loud.
We both lost money on the stingy penny Hot Shots, where we struggled with our rewards cards (they really don’t make those insertion slots very easy to find)—and with moving two-ton chairs out of the way for his electric scooter (they really don’t make those chairs very portable).
I asked Gary whether he likes having more of a sense of control at the table games. And he does. But still, he appeased me with a stab at the Fireball slots, where he won more than $40 last time we met here—and where, all of a sudden, I made back all I’d just lost plus the $20 I’d lost earlier and ended up with a total profit of—wait for it … 37 cents. Profit!
“Well, I’m done,” I said to Gary. He thought I was kidding. I wasn’t. I offered to buy him lunch, but he said, as I thought he might, “I didn’t come here to eat. I came here to gamble.”
I had errands to run, so I cashed out and told Gary I was thrilled I wasn’t a loser.
“You didn’t win enough to mail an envelope,” he laughed.
I hugged him goodbye at the entrance to the smoking section, and I told him I wanted a full report on his winnings on Friday, before Bingo.
“This is where your good luck starts,” I told him. I am totally expecting him to share encouraging stories of gigantic jackpots.