Fat Old Woman in Las Vegas: Gambling, Dieting and Wicked Fun (9 page)

I skittered down a few rows and found a DaVinci Diamonds penny slot machine. I slipped in my dough, turned on my iPod and hit record. Or I thought I hit record. I didn’t know for sure. I regretted the decision to “learn as I go” in Las Vegas. I basically had no idea what I was doing.

I looked into the viewfinder and noticed the machine shaking. Thankfully, it wasn’t an earthquake, though it looked like it. My hands were trembling. I was that nervous about being caught. I feared not only getting banned from a casino, but having security confiscate my iPod, or delete the contents.

I peered around me, wondering if I was being noticed. I hit the play button again and fifty cents disappeared into the universe. Crap. I was already down a dollar.

I continued playing. In three minutes time I spent the twenty. Not a bonus to be had. My brain calculated the total I was down for the trip, three hundred eight-three dollars. My mind shifted into a less depressing mode. I discarded yesterday’s memory of the money I lost on my dinner quest. So far, that morning I’d only gambled forty-two dollars. I didn’t bother to add in the twenty-one dollars for breakfast.

That sounded a lot better, even if in reality I’d only gambled for a total of thirty minutes.

Shit, I mumbled out loud, realizing they were the very first words I recorded. So much for my including a clever and witty audio. The whole point of the video was for me to be rambling on in a humorous way while throwing in a reference or two to my books available online for purchase.

Right now, the only thing I uttered on the video was a swear word, and a pathetic one at that.

Feeling frustrated, I left Mandalay Bay and headed toward the Luxor. The Excalibur, Luxor and Mandalay Bay resorts are connected by a vast corridor of shopping, restaurants, and clubs. I didn’t bother getting back on the tram.

Luxor, with its thirty-story black pyramid and its gigantic golden sphinx sitting in front of the entrance is one of the most photographed icons on The Strip. Kitsch was in style when the Egyptian tribute was built. The onyx-hued property sits next to a medieval castle that sits across the street from a faux replica of the New York City skyline, complete with a functioning roller coaster zipping around the perimeter.

When I reached the Luxor gaming floor, I ended up sitting at
The Bridesmaids’
slot machine. Melissa McCarthy’s face beamed at me, as well as other stars of the raunchy film. I have this unproven theory that slots connected to celebrities rarely pay off, as the slot machine manufacturers needed to pay royalties to the celebrities as well as the casino. However, my hypothesis has never stopped me from playing a star themed slot, especially, if I like the movie star as much as I like McCarthy. Melissa is a great example of a big girl making it really big.

I slipped in my twenty and fumbled around again with my camera. I noted the time: 11:37 a.m. At 11:42, I’d either be richer, poorer or even. Three spins later I hit the bonus round.

“Woo-hoo!” I yelled rather weakly, hoping the audio on the camera picked up the sound. I was not only afraid of attracting attention but my energy level was close to zero. In comedy, the most important ingredient is energy. No one wants to listen to a video with a narrator who sounds like that old lady in the Titanic Movie.

Really? James Cameron? What were you thinking?

The
Bridesmaids
slot bonus round I won was the Bridal Gown Showdown. Many of the slot games like
The Bridesmaids
are interactive, alluding to a false sense of control as you chose which image to press, which button to move, which question to answer. If you lose it’s because you’ve chosen the wrong move. If you win, it’s because you’re a genius.

Check any of the gambling slot forums and you’ll find out that most of the results of a computerized game are often pre-determined. It’s not like the old days, when the spin of a mechanical wheel determined your destiny. Now it is in the hands of the game designing IT folks.

In the film, a luncheon at a Brazilian steak house leads to a major bout of food poisoning, complete with all the disgusting side effects. Ditto the slot game.

I chose which skewer to slide onto a plate in front of each actress using my finger to do so. My food choice decision would be either good or really bad. Eventually, all of the women on the screen become ill, just like in the movie. Except this time, you get credits for killing them off slowly.

When the bonus round ended, I was up $11.22. I clicked off my iPod camera and debated whether to leave. I was up a bit, and my goal was just to tape in each casino. Theoretically, I could leave, but heck, I was ahead. Maybe I could win a bit more, maybe win back that money lost at the
Iron Man
….

I hit play and I felt my shoulder being rubbed hard. A firm pair of hands pressed firmly into my flesh while a female voice said. “You lucky.”

I didn’t bother to turn around. If you win a jackpot or even a bonus, you’re considered “lucky” by other gamblers. No one bothers to consider the fact that you may have already lost one thousand dollars a few minutes earlier. All they know is for that moment the gambling gods are smiling down on you. And if they touch you, the luck might be contagious.

I’ve been rubbed harder in casinos than at any massage parlor. And the only happy ending in sight is the sound of fake coins falling into a fake metal bin.

“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “I am lucky.”

“You playing long time?” she asked.

“A few minutes,” I replied. “I’m leaving. You can have the machine if you want.” It was close to lunchtime. I was hungry and the New York-New York food court was calling my name.

I exited the gaming floor of the Luxor and continued through the hallway that connected it to Excalibur. I found the main entrance again, but this time I didn’t head to the tram station. Instead I took a turn to the left and walked across the bridge that spanned Tropicana Avenue. Once on the other side there are only two choices. Take the escalator or elevator to the street level or walk directly into the second level of New York, New York with its shops and fast food joints.

Once inside, I located the escalator to the gaming floor and headed down. But for a change, I didn’t rush to the slots. I went directly to the food court, one of the nicest in Las Vegas.
But it wasn’t the delis that attracted me. It was the one Las Vegas casino where magic had happened to me. The one casino where within one hour I had won enough money to pay for our trip, to give my husband a thousand dollars, take a grand for myself, and still have tons of money left over to gamble.

It had happened on my sixteenth trip to Las Vegas. Before that, my visits would have me losing every dime or, if I were lucky, breaking even. Never did I walk away a winner, clutching thousands of dollars in my hands. Or better yet, holding onto a check for millions of dollars like Elmer Sherwin did, twice.

Ninety-two-year old Elmer won 21.1 million dollars at the Cannery in North Las Vegas. Sixteen years earlier, in 1989, he won 4.6 million at the Mirage. When interviewed about his second mega win, he said his dream was to “win big twice.”

For a true gambler, once is never enough.

I never dreamt about hitting the big one, because for me it wasn’t possible. Playing the lowest bet allowed on any machine eliminated the possibility of scoring the big payoff. Normally, you’re not in the running unless you play the max bet.

Being the frugal gambler I am meant I’d have to quit playing early because my money would run out sooner. Keeping in the action, for me, is more important. I simply love to play and never think about winning or losing. I claim I’d be just as thrilled with a four or five-thousand dollar win as I would with a million.

And son of a gun, I was.

∞

Even on vacation, my husband and I follow a strict schedule. Every morning we’d stop by the ATM in the hotel lobby. I’d withdraw our maximum daily limit, three hundred bucks. My husband would take one hundred and I’d keep the rest. With luck, it would take me all day to lose the two C’s.

We’d immediately head to the pool and bake in the sun. After an hour, I’d leave my husband alone, gifting him the chance to ogle in peace. Later, at 5:00 p.m., we’d meet in our room to plan our evening.

For six hours, I’d wander the strip alone, moving from casino to casino placing one forty-cent wager after another. I’d start out the day by slipping twenty bucks in a machine. The twenty would be lost fairly quickly. In disgust, I’d head to the closest casino, the Bellagio. Or I’d cross the street and try my luck at Casino Royale.

Once there, because I’d already lost twenty dollars, I’d hit the cashier’s cage to exchange the nine twenties for eighteen ten dollars bills. I’d slip a ten into the first slot … and soon …. well … I’d be at the next casino, trading in my tens for fives.

On that one day of magic, my losing streak stayed with me for hours. By 1:00 p.m. when I walked into New York-New York, I had only five bucks in my pocket. My schedule called for four more hours of gambling. I’d never make it that far. I was sure I’d run out of cash within a matter of minutes.

My luck was bound to change
, I’d tell myself over and over. It wasn’t
fair
I couldn’t find a single winning machine.

The one personality characteristic that reaches across the gambling community is a belief that life should be fair.

Because if it is, one day you’ll get yours.

I walked carefully around the New York-New York gaming floor. I knew that when my last penny was spent, I’d head back to my hotel room in shame. Eventually, I’d contact my husband. I’d text him one word … hungry. He’d rush back and escort me to the nearest buffet to drown my sorrows with carved turkey and blueberry pie.

Afterwards, we’d end up at the half price ticket booth and catch the cheapest show still available. Any gambling I’d do would have to wait until the next morning, when I hit up the ATM once again.

But this time it was different.

I slipped the five-dollar bill into a Triple Seven machine, a gutsy move on my part. I never played dollars slots, ever. But if I was going to burn out in a matter of minutes, I decided to do it in blaze of glory.

I pressed play and the wheel spun around. Two white sevens appeared, and then nothing. I hit it again. Nada. On the third try, with two bucks left in the machine, One seven appeared, and then another, and then … a third.

The lights flashed, bells went off. A siren came out of nowhere. I‘d won one thousand dollars.

“Good for you,” the man sitting next to me said between puffs on his stinky cigar. “People have been losing all day on that machine.”

I smiled weakly at him. I was in such shock, I couldn’t talk. If I had had any sense, I would cash out and walk away. The thousand dollars would cover the cost of Steve’s plane ride, our meals, our hotels—an almost free vacation.

I vowed one more time to stop and quickly realized the futility of my words. Quicker than instantly, I decided to let myself spend another hundred, and that would be it. I’d still leave with nine hundred bucks in my pocket.

I started playing again, one dollar at a time—and after losing thirty-nine times in a row, son-of-a-gun—I did it again.

Three red sevens lined up in front of me. One thousand dollars again! I nearly fell off my chair.

“Jesus Christ,” my neighbor guy muttered, barely able to contain his anger at his own misfortune. “I knew I should’ve switched seats.”

There would be no more congratulations or camaraderie aimed in my direction. It was best that I move quickly away from him.

Clutching the stack of bills in my hand, my eyes scanned the area. I spotted an
I Dream of Jeannie
nickel machine. I slid a twenty-dollar bill into the slot, then two more. The $1,900 I won in a matter of minutes could easily be lost as quickly. It only took a few more minutes of play for me to be down to $1,840.

Then I hit again.

This time it was only $450.

Only $450?????
Was I becoming so delusional or greedy that an amount I would have once been overjoyed with winning had become an
only?

My pot had surged back over two grand. I continued to play on various machines. By the end of forty minutes there was $2800 inside my zippered purse. I was giddy with glee to the point of hyperventilating. It couldn’t get any better.

But of course it did.

On the very next press of the button, I hit my biggest win of the day—$1199.00. I began to feel as if nothing could stop me. Nothing. Except for the two casino workers headed my way.

We gamblers are not only superstitious but we’re gullible, believing every rumor we’ve heard in regards to winning or losing. The legend of “the cooler” begins with the unproven theory that casinos hire unlucky individuals who spread negative vibes wherever they go. Good luck instantly turns bad for anyone unfortunate enough to be near them.

Whether these two cheerful women were coolers or not, I noticed I started to lose as soon as they stood next to me, gabbing away. If they weren’t professional downers, they were definitely a distraction. That alone was reason enough for the powers to be to send them to see what was really going on.

Now, if I’d won, say thirty grand at one machine, that little act would not have created such attention. But winning a jackpot at one machine after another was suspicious. That just didn’t happen.

But it was happening to me and I had no clue why. I wasn’t using a metal “money paw” on a slot machine to tinker with the insides. Nor had I cruised eBay to buy an electronic gadget guaranteed to trigger a win. As far as I knew Jupiter was not in my fifth house, whatever that meant. I only remembered my friend, who dabbled in astrology, told me to make sure it was every time I gambled.

Nor was I a fortuneteller. Never did I stroll up to a machine and see myself winning. If I did see anything, it was always me losing. But for some reason, I was on a roll, winning jackpot after jackpot.

And nothing scares a casino more.

“Wow, you’re having a lucky day,” the female employee gushed.

“You certainly are,” giggled the older one on my left.

They went on.

“So, whatcha’ think is going on? Just lucky?’”

“You’re astrology sign kicking in? I’m a Taurus. What are you?”

“Are you psychic? My grandma was. She could tell when the phone was gonna ring. You like that? Can you tell which machine is gonna hit?”

Yada, yada, yada.

Their chatter distracted me. Which is exactly what it was supposed to do. I couldn’t focus on playing. Plus, the fact I’m somewhat claustrophobic didn’t help the situation. True, I was on a winning machine, but suddenly I started to lose. Five losing spins later, I cashed out and tossed more money into my purse and fled.

A cab carried me back to my hotel. It was only a matter of blocks, but I didn’t trust myself to walk the strip with that amount of money. I’d either lose it to a mugger or give it back to another casino. As soon as I arrived at our hotel, I tipped the driver fifty bucks and jumped out of the cab and raced to my room.

Once inside, I spread the forty one-hundred-dollar bills across the bedspread. I sat back in an armchair, crossed my legs and waited for my husband to return. One thing for sure, that night we wouldn’t be waiting in line for half price tickets to the cheapest show in town.