Monday, 31 October 2011

57) Loser

    Round and round the wheel went and I knew exactly where the ball landed, on that damn green zero. Green for mold and rot and spoiled meat when really it was supposed to be red and fire and raw fresh tuna steak.
    Would it be crazy to tell you I actually place my bets to loose? It’s true. You know that thing where in near death experiences people say they see their lives flash before their eyes? It’s the same thing with me and loosing money. I see all that time and effort evaporate. One grand? Oh, that was a week at my desk job. Ten grand? Oh, that was three years of careful stock picks. One hundred grand? Oh, there goes my marriage and mortgage and Mercedes.
    After spinning dizzily the little white ball bounced and thunked and pinged and slid right in there as the world’s biggest middle finger right in my face. There were groans all around the table of course, but I was quiet and savoring the loss. The croupier used her wooden hook and pulled in the mountains of bets. As they clinked and slid I realized what I’d really lost. I padded my jacket and pants pockets just to be sure. Yup, all gone. No more cash, no more chips. I’d brilliantly cut up my credit card after that last withdrawal.
    I truly had nothing. I was a loser.
    I slinked back out from the crowd and walked through the rest of the casino floor, back to the elevators, and up to my room. If time heals all wounds, and there’s no clocks in a Casino they it’s just a big gaping wound, isn’t it? Just a wounded animal lying still, infested with human filth, and groaning mechanically with clinking tears.
    I let myself into my room and collapsed on the floor sobbing. I was done. I’d advanced my last three thousand dollars from my credit card. I wouldn’t even be able to pay for the room. I wept for my stupidity and avarice and masochism.

    Eventually I must have disrobed and crawled my way to bed, though I can’t remember doing that. I slowly untangled myself from the sheets and checked my watch, 10:30am. Checkout time was a half hour ago. I was screwed. After decades of drunken and disorderly clients casino hotels had every exit covered and security guards up the yin yang, you couldn’t just sleep and dash anymore.
    I decided that it was just best to face the music. I slid back into my crumpled suit and walked to the front desk in shame.
    Suffice it to say the establishment never looks kindly on moochers. There was no leniency for my misery. I was in a holding cell by the end of the hour.
    I wish I could say I woke up a new person there in the smell of drunkenness and the sound of tramps snoring, but I think we’re all relatively the same person even through life changing circumstances.

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