1/21/2024 0 Comments Flat stanley cartoonWhere I teach, at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas, most students grew up in the area and it’s not uncommon for them to write essays about a mom or dad whose gambling habit was so crippling, the other parent took the kids and moved out. Why couldn’t I get this jack the last time?” The kid glares every time the woman talks to the machine: “I need an eight …. To the little girl’s credit, she doesn’t seem tempted to imitate her mom’s habit so much as she seems ready to drag her out. But by the time the symbols stopped, a security guard arrived to chide my aunt: “Kids can’t touch the machines!” I’d lost, anyway. Knowing what I’d done was totally illegal made it all the more thrilling. I got the insane urge to play too, so I grabbed a quarter from her tray, plunked it into the next machine, and yanked the lever, immediately feeling that same rush I feel now as bells, cherries, and 7s spun in the machine’s gold-painted windows. I was about 10-maybe the same age as the girl-when I first watched my Auntie Carla play slot machines on a family trip to Las Vegas. I know casinos can’t be trusted with something as important as babysitting, but there ought to be a place kids can go study while their parents scratch their gambling itch. The plinky drone of bloops and beeps from the machines almost stifles the little girl’s loud reading from her schoolwork. The perfume the casino pumps in fails to mask drifting odors of smoke, farts, and sweat. Now, along with her schoolwork, the child will absorb lessons on chasing four-of-a-kinds and royal flushes while lighting one cigarette with the tip of another. The woman pokes the touchscreen, selecting hold cards and slapping the “DEAL” button, while her daughter unzips a backpack and takes out a folder, worksheet and a pencil with a big, brain-shaped eraser. I guess Binion’s quit enforcing that one, so the rest of us have to pretend this depressing atmosphere didn’t get even sadder. Kids aren’t allowed to hang out in casinos. A few rounds in, I look to my left and see a little girl and her mother at a Video Poker unit. I’m just 35, and childless, but aging parents and grandparents appear to be the casino’s target demographic. I hum along, slide $100 into a Caveman Keno machine, and sit with my legs crossed, exposing my hairy thighs like an embarrassing dad. I knew I was middle-aged when I started to like smooth jazz.
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