Gambling

A few weeks ago my friend J came down for a whirlwind visit.  She was recuperating after the successful conclusion of a huge event ("The rule is, leave town before the bills and complaints start coming in"), and she treated me to two restful nights at local casino resorts.

Yes, that does seem to be an oxymoron.  How could a casino be restful?  And, why do I need a rest? My days are glacially paced, I have very little to stress me.  Still, it was restful, and it was good to spend time with an old friend.  Also, I pass several casinos a week....all the highways go through reservation land, and most have casinos.  I'm curious about this aspect of my home.

We started at Buffalo Thunder.  It was Friday, and the parking lot was full of wedding guests and weekend gamblers.  I cruised around and then went to the front of the hotel, where I texted J and chatted with the doorman, who told me valet parking was $8.  No, not gonna go there.  J met me at the front door and directed me to the side parking lot, next to the red Mustang that she had been watching from our balcony.  We had both brought wine and TJ munchies, and that was supper.  We talked and watched the alpenglow on mountains to the east, while the parking lot filled. Most of the guests were wearing black and turquoise: those must have been the official wedding colors.  There were also three Samoyed dogs, big fluffy white things walking sedately on their leashes towards the side door.  I yelled from the balcony:  "Pretty dogs, what kind are they?"

(One of the advantages of being old is that I have very little social shame left.  Or perhaps, my impulse control is gone?  No matter.)

Later, behind the wall separating the balconies, I heard the sound of pebbly items falling into a bowl.  Peering over, I saw all three dogs and a small dark-haired girl.  The dogs were eating kibble, and the girl looked at me without comment when I said, "Hello!" So, I left them to it and got ready for our tour of the hotel.

The place is FILLED with fabulous native art.  J is a connoisseur:  she comes down every year for the art fair and, on every trip to Santa Fe, stops by Blue Rain Gallery and IAIA.  So, she was able to identify all the Tony Abeyta paintings, which I like a lot:  representational landscapes with dark blues and earth colors, straight slanting brush strokes that are almost, but not quite, geometrical.  The art was varied:  sculpture, paintings, jewelry, weaving, pottery.

We walked through the lobbies, past fireplaces, fountains, restaurants, and shops.  Then, down the escalator to the casino, a maze of blinking lights, tables, and slot machines.  The machines were arrayed in blocks of eight, four to a side, and the air was filled with the sounds of lions roaring, coins crashing, and blurry loudspeaker announcements.  All of the sound was mechanical and harshly blaring:  the players were for the most part dourly silent, focused on their machines. The employees were smiling professionally, but they sparked no response from the patrons.  The air was not blue with smoke, but there was a definite fug and I wanted to get out as soon as I got in.  But, first we had to get signed up.  J had to replace her card, and she shepherded me through the process.  It's all electronic:  after visiting the counter and getting your card, you go to a machine to register your account.  One swipe, and I was in the system.  They gave me a $10 credit, and we threaded the maze to the non-smoking area.

It was quieter in there, and there were no tables.  Machines lined the walls and blocks of them filled the center.  I couldn't figure out how you would chose a machine:  they all seemed to work the same way, although their bells and whistles were different.  I picked a lion machine, avoiding the gaudier media-based themes.  I inserted my card and started pressing buttons.  J advised me to use the penny amounts and the 20-line button.  I still don't know what it meant, but the machine display rolled, and the credit amount went down, went back up, went down some more, and then I hit a jackpot, announced by a roaring lion.  I cashed out, and got a receipt with a barcode:  $3.30.  I still had some credit, which could not be cashed out, so we went to the machines along the wall and played some more.  Another winning, $3.90.  I was bored with the process, though, because there was no real interaction.  J tried to get me more involved:  she said to talk trash to the machine when I wasn't winning.  Surprisingly, that seemed to help!  But it still was rather dull.  So, we went to the video poker machines.

You could spend hours there, playing the penny amounts.  The credit hovers at the break-even place, going down a bit, going up a bit.  There are no real jackpots.  You only make money if you bet large amounts, which I was unwilling to do, because that's also how you lose money.

We roamed about a bit more, and J spotted a Texan, identifying her by the careful coif.  From a distance, she just looked like a casually-dressed, wiry lady with short gray hair, flipped on the ends. I walked nonchalantly past to see what J meant and discovered that the curl was perfectly symmetrical, hair-sprayed into place, like she'd placed a bowl over her head and curled the ends up over the edge.  It was subtle, but very styled.

I went back to the slots, and brought my winnings up to $10.40.  J brought me some Sprite:  soft drinks are free.  Then, back to the poker, where I used up my credit and inserted one of my receipts, which I also lost.  I quit with a total winning of $7.05, and we went looking for the cash out machine.  You find it by looking for a line of people.

We watched bad TV while I did the crossword and played Candy Crush on my iPhone.  Next morning, J brought me breakfast in bed, and I realized why I was enjoying this vacation:  someone was waiting on me!  I don't have to do dishes!  I'm not responsible for ANYTHING!

Breakfast was excellent:  lots of berries and melon, sweet pastries, mounds of crisp bacon, quiche and ready-made omelettes, yoghurt cups, cereal hot and cold, bagels, toast....J was blissed out by the fruit.  She lives in Wyoming, at the "end of the truck."  Their fruit apparently arrives quite wilted.

We cruised through Santa Fe, and then headed south, out of the incipient rain storm.  Sunset at Tamaya was lovely, but the wind was chilly.  Even though the outdoor pool was heated and the lounge chairs were in the sun, it was way too cold to spend much time outside, once the body was wetted down.

The Santa Ana casino was not located at Tamaya, so we had to drive over to get some action. They did not give me any credit, but I won a water bottle which I later converted into a beach tote bag that smelled of gasoline. We stopped at the Mesa Grill for supper:  it was located within the no-smoking section.  Unlike the separate room at Buffalo Thunder, there were no video poker machines, and the section was only separated from the smokers by a velvet rope.  After a $2 burger and a $4 shake at the Mesa Grill ("HOME OF THE $2 BURGER!"), we checked out the slots.  I put in two or three bills at a time, and my net winnings were $4.  J hit a huge jackpot several times, and walked away with $15.

I'm not sure how the casinos make money, but of course, we were not in with the big players.  The penny slots are peopled by overweight people in scooters, bored men in jeans and t-shirts, and groups of the elderly.  You get the impression that they have nothing else to do, but you don't get the sense of the desperation of the addict.  And, I can see the appeal, in a weird way.  I was bored, but I was also a little hooked by the incremental increases, and undismayed by the incremental losses.  With more time and money, I could have continued to plug the machines.  On a hot summer's day, an air-conditioned casino might be the place to be.