Just a Bad Night

There are times in life when it's impossible to not gloat a little.

I've never been a very dedicated gambler. That's surprising to me, as I've always been aware of my own shortcomings when it comes to habitual behavior and addictions. In a strange way I've always looked at people who gamble a little sadly, as if my own habits are somehow less unsavory. I'm aware of the hypocrisy so don't feel the need to point it out to me.
It was a couple of years ago, now, that some friends were visiting from the States and, to my knowledge, I've never met an American who didn't consider a night at the casino the first choice in entertainment. I protested and rolled my eyes when they suggested it but they claimed they wanted to evaluate our government sponsored casino and see if it met with their approval. I didn't bother to tell them that appealing to my patriotism was useless and we suited up for a night out.
As I remember it, I was a little 'under the weather' and bitched about having to wait around for these jokers to spend every last cent they had before we could go home. They put a time limit on the fun, just for me, and I had to shut up.
As soon as we hit the floor they they careened off in every direction and I went to the bar. Remember, I have bad habits, too. I ordered a gin and tonic and struck up a conversation with an old guy sitting beside me. It was polite but strained and so I left him alone and set out to try and have some fun. I wandered from table to table, sometimes coming across one of the guys, sometimes sitting in for a hand, but mostly I just walked a huge circle around the glitter and noise.
Somebody told me once that the bells and noises the slot machines make are all tuned to the same major chord. It's a subliminal tactic to reinforce the positive vibe on the floor. I wondered what would happen if some joker in maintenance re-tuned them to nice minor and imagined the crying and the carnage that would ensue. Or maybe they could be tuned to play the theme from the Godfather. That would be fun to see.
As the night wound down and some of the guys appeared, looks of drunken woe plastered on their faces, I decided to drop a dollar into one more slot machine. It spit out $250. Needless to say I was pretty pleased with myself but I horrified my friends when I went to cash in my chips without playing again. I knew the odds and I figured that with the forty dollars I had spent I was up over $200.
As I said, sometimes it's o.k. to gloat, which was what I did all the way home. Everyone re-counted their spectacular losses, prefacing it with, "I was up by seven hundred...". I listened to about as much rationalization as any man could bear and just tuned them out. It didn't matter how much they lost, they all knew they were better than the odds; it was just a bad night.
I admit it. I had fun but the lights, the glamour, the promise of easy money really has no sway over me and I suppose I should count my blessings. I settled back into my seat, ignoring the conversation and began to imagine the havoc I could wreak if only I knew how to tune a slot machine.