Fear and Loathing in Louisiana
http://www.atomicsportsmedia.com/articles/763/1/Fear-and-Loathing-in-Louisiana/Fear-and-Loathing-in-Louisiana.html
James Field
Jim is in his fifth and, fingers-crossed, final year at the Ohio State University. He is a staff writer for Uweekly, published every Wednesday at OSU, as well as a copy editor at the school's daily paper, The Lantern. In his free time he enjoys jazz flute, long walks on the beach, football, Coors Light and watching the Anchorman DVD. He is also in love with Erin Andrews and would like for her to know that if she is ever in Columbus she should look him up.
By James Field
Published on 03/8/2007
All the excitement over the annual March Madness got Atomic Sports columnist Jim Field thinking about his first trip to a casino. Exciting? Yes. Fun? Um, maybe. Successful? Not so much. Read along as Jim revisits the gut-wrenching deatails all over again.
All the excitement over the annual March Madness got Atomic Sports columnist Jim Field thinking about his first trip to a casino. Exciting? Yes. Fun? Um, maybe. Successful? Not so much. Read along as Jim revisits the gut-wrenching deatails all over again.
Fear and Loathing in Louisiana
March Madness, they call it.
Madness, because it’s an all out brawl between 65 teams fighting for one spot; because for a few weeks in March no team is immune to upset, whether it be Cinderella at her first ball or the old hag that just shows up year after year, you just never know.
Madness because I’ll soon be staring blankly into an empty bracket and, with all my infinite wisdom, attempt to correctly predict the unpredictable.
I don’t really gamble on sports, or in general, and not because I have a moral objection. I just don’t find it that interesting. I know guys who get so wrapped up in the lines and the over/unders that they hardly enjoy the game.
Teams play to win the game and I watch to see who wins. It’s really that easy and my wallet appreciates it.
With that said, there will be little or no discussion of sports in the rest of this column. The story you are about read has nothing to do with basketball, or March Madness, and it doesn’t work to justify that little voice in your head that makes you sure that Sport has a way of transcending everything in the world but good and evil, right and wrong, you versus them. (And it does, by the way, and I have an idea of why, but I’m neither smart enough nor a good enough writer to explain it.)
It’s the story of a degenerate gambler and though the painfully small amounts of money lost and gained are almost as laughable as the situation, it’s the story of an improbable comeback.
Last summer, my weeklong vacation somehow turned into a two-month vacation. My family and I drove down to Houston, Texas to visit with family. It was the first summer in my adult life that I didn’t have a job. Since I’ve been old enough to drive, I’ve had a full-time summer job of some kind and the type of loyalty more often found in a 16-year-old dog than a 16-year-old kid.
I felt bad missing work, like I was hanging the fellas out to dry by not pulling my weight. Then I become a writer. I finally discovered that worthless laziness that I knew lived in me somewhere but had yet to show its face. That summer I could have done my job anywhere there was an Internet connection.
So when my family left after one week for the 20-plus hour drive back to Ohio, I decided to stick around. My cousin, James, had a friend who was a pilot and could get me a flight home any time I wanted, so I intended on wearing out my welcome.
I spent every day with my uncle, Mark, and James, “working” with them in their sign shop right off the Southwest Freeway in Houston. I filed weekly masterpieces (okay, we all know that’s bologna, I was on vacation) for the paper back at school and then spent the rest of time hanging out and catching up on six years of missed vacations.
The summer heat in Houston is unbearable. It weighs heavy on you like a fully loaded back pack, so we usually saved most of the hard manual work, like digging holes and putting up double faced, 4-by-8 feet signs, for the evening.
During the day we played cards, poker, video games, practical jokes and watched movies in the comfort of the AC. It was exactly what I wanted in a vacation.
When you’re the boss, you make your own hours, and Mark and James were the only bosses and the only employees. It was more like a boy’s club than a place of employment.
“Now, if I could just get rid of these damn customers,” Mark would say jokingly, upset that he had to pause his movie and turn the lights on to talk to a customer.
That was the daily routine, and I had come to expect little deviation. So, when James asked me if I wanted to tag along with him and his wife Charlotte to a casino along Interstate 10 in Louisiana, I said yes. I’d never been to a casino, had no idea what to expect, and I had no money – but I was game. I was game for anything.
“I’m on vacation,” became a rallying cry, which, translated from Jim-speak, means, “my dumb ass will follow you anywhere in the name of a good time.”
Madness, because it’s an all out brawl between 65 teams fighting for one spot; because for a few weeks in March no team is immune to upset, whether it be Cinderella at her first ball or the old hag that just shows up year after year, you just never know.
Madness because I’ll soon be staring blankly into an empty bracket and, with all my infinite wisdom, attempt to correctly predict the unpredictable.
I don’t really gamble on sports, or in general, and not because I have a moral objection. I just don’t find it that interesting. I know guys who get so wrapped up in the lines and the over/unders that they hardly enjoy the game.
Teams play to win the game and I watch to see who wins. It’s really that easy and my wallet appreciates it.
With that said, there will be little or no discussion of sports in the rest of this column. The story you are about read has nothing to do with basketball, or March Madness, and it doesn’t work to justify that little voice in your head that makes you sure that Sport has a way of transcending everything in the world but good and evil, right and wrong, you versus them. (And it does, by the way, and I have an idea of why, but I’m neither smart enough nor a good enough writer to explain it.)
It’s the story of a degenerate gambler and though the painfully small amounts of money lost and gained are almost as laughable as the situation, it’s the story of an improbable comeback.
Last summer, my weeklong vacation somehow turned into a two-month vacation. My family and I drove down to Houston, Texas to visit with family. It was the first summer in my adult life that I didn’t have a job. Since I’ve been old enough to drive, I’ve had a full-time summer job of some kind and the type of loyalty more often found in a 16-year-old dog than a 16-year-old kid.
I felt bad missing work, like I was hanging the fellas out to dry by not pulling my weight. Then I become a writer. I finally discovered that worthless laziness that I knew lived in me somewhere but had yet to show its face. That summer I could have done my job anywhere there was an Internet connection.
So when my family left after one week for the 20-plus hour drive back to Ohio, I decided to stick around. My cousin, James, had a friend who was a pilot and could get me a flight home any time I wanted, so I intended on wearing out my welcome.
I spent every day with my uncle, Mark, and James, “working” with them in their sign shop right off the Southwest Freeway in Houston. I filed weekly masterpieces (okay, we all know that’s bologna, I was on vacation) for the paper back at school and then spent the rest of time hanging out and catching up on six years of missed vacations.
The summer heat in Houston is unbearable. It weighs heavy on you like a fully loaded back pack, so we usually saved most of the hard manual work, like digging holes and putting up double faced, 4-by-8 feet signs, for the evening.
During the day we played cards, poker, video games, practical jokes and watched movies in the comfort of the AC. It was exactly what I wanted in a vacation.
When you’re the boss, you make your own hours, and Mark and James were the only bosses and the only employees. It was more like a boy’s club than a place of employment.
“Now, if I could just get rid of these damn customers,” Mark would say jokingly, upset that he had to pause his movie and turn the lights on to talk to a customer.
That was the daily routine, and I had come to expect little deviation. So, when James asked me if I wanted to tag along with him and his wife Charlotte to a casino along Interstate 10 in Louisiana, I said yes. I’d never been to a casino, had no idea what to expect, and I had no money – but I was game. I was game for anything.
“I’m on vacation,” became a rallying cry, which, translated from Jim-speak, means, “my dumb ass will follow you anywhere in the name of a good time.”
Fear and Loathing in Louisiana
There were billboards all along the route, telling us about how much money the casino paid out. “Our slots pay out 5 million daily.”
“Yeah but they take in 6 million a day,” James blurted out.
The over/under on billboards was 25 and the trip took 23 billboards. I had taken the over and it was as if the gambling gods were telling me to quit while I was ahead and just spend the day in the lazy river.
I didn’t listen
The building itself was completely out of place, in the vast, seemingly lifeless swampland of southern Louisiana; it was the tallest thing for miles. From a distance its purple tinted windows and stucco blurred and waved as the heat of the sun baked the land around it. The Lauberge du Lac, it’s called. (If I had to guess I’d say it’s French for “Welcome Stupid”)
We got there and checked in. The room was nice but I didn’t see much of it. We were in and out, long enough to drop a bag. Then we hit the floor.
The casino was an acid trip, a completely spontaneous situation. The tourettes-inspired carpet and the seizure-producing lights and sounds were, not going to lie, pretty cool. I was swallowed up in the atmosphere.
“Time to work the slots,” I said.
The slots worked me.
Mark and James had given me $150 for the sole purpose of gambling it away if I so chose. That was my pay for the “work” I’d done with them at the shop. Family pay, I called it.
It was gone quick, like three hours. I had only been playing nickel slots the whole time and had run it all the way down to about $40. Where the hell was my beginner’s luck?
I went to the ATM and got $40 more. I wasn’t exactly sure what it would do for me but I needed to have the feeling of cash in my pocket. The receipt said I had roughly 50 cents left in my checking account.
“Ewwwww, not good,” I thought. “I better play it smart and win all my money back.”
(Now remember, I haven’t had a job all summer and just blew almost all the money I had “earned” in a three-hour span. You would think that common sense would take over at some point but it never did. A casino is the place where common sense goes to die.)
“How you doin’ on money?” James asked me.
“Ummm…I got 40 bucks cash, plus about 40 left on this voucher,” I said.
“Well, we’re pretty low too,” he said. “Lets get some dinner before we spend the rest our money.”
After dinner, I worked the $40 up to $80 over the next hour or so and then, promptly lost it all in about 10 minutes. I fed a $20 into the devil machine and in another five minutes that was gone, too.
I had given up. I took my last $20 and went looking for James and Charlotte. They were out, too.
I handed the $20 to James and we went to the nearest dollar slots. The second pull landed a $100 jackpot.
Finally our luck was turning. We stayed at that dollar slot machine and paid for two-dollar pulls until all that money was gone again.
“I’m going’ to bed,” Charlotte said.
The smart one went to bed while my degenerate cousin and I decided how we might be able to get more money.
“Well, I think there is a fifty in the ash tray in the car,” he said. “But Charlotte would kill me.”
“Wait, can you use a SEARS card in an ATM?” I asked frantically, going through my wallet.
“No, you idiot.”
“Wait, I got an idea,” I said. “I’ve only got about 50 cents left in my checking account but I think I saw where you can do cash advances.”
I was almost giddy as a swiped my card and got a $100 advance… on my debit card. I purposefully went into the red on my checking account in order to gamble more. Seriously, who does that?
I took the printout to the cashier; she had me sign some stuff, then inked my thumb and made me push it down on the paper.
“Great,” I thought. “For all of eternity my thumbprint will live in a back room at the Lauberge du Lac.”
I imagined it hung on some corkboard in the back where the casino employees could look at it on a coffee break for a good laugh.
“Yeah but they take in 6 million a day,” James blurted out.
The over/under on billboards was 25 and the trip took 23 billboards. I had taken the over and it was as if the gambling gods were telling me to quit while I was ahead and just spend the day in the lazy river.
I didn’t listen
The building itself was completely out of place, in the vast, seemingly lifeless swampland of southern Louisiana; it was the tallest thing for miles. From a distance its purple tinted windows and stucco blurred and waved as the heat of the sun baked the land around it. The Lauberge du Lac, it’s called. (If I had to guess I’d say it’s French for “Welcome Stupid”)
We got there and checked in. The room was nice but I didn’t see much of it. We were in and out, long enough to drop a bag. Then we hit the floor.
The casino was an acid trip, a completely spontaneous situation. The tourettes-inspired carpet and the seizure-producing lights and sounds were, not going to lie, pretty cool. I was swallowed up in the atmosphere.
“Time to work the slots,” I said.
The slots worked me.
Mark and James had given me $150 for the sole purpose of gambling it away if I so chose. That was my pay for the “work” I’d done with them at the shop. Family pay, I called it.
It was gone quick, like three hours. I had only been playing nickel slots the whole time and had run it all the way down to about $40. Where the hell was my beginner’s luck?
I went to the ATM and got $40 more. I wasn’t exactly sure what it would do for me but I needed to have the feeling of cash in my pocket. The receipt said I had roughly 50 cents left in my checking account.
“Ewwwww, not good,” I thought. “I better play it smart and win all my money back.”
(Now remember, I haven’t had a job all summer and just blew almost all the money I had “earned” in a three-hour span. You would think that common sense would take over at some point but it never did. A casino is the place where common sense goes to die.)
“How you doin’ on money?” James asked me.
“Ummm…I got 40 bucks cash, plus about 40 left on this voucher,” I said.
“Well, we’re pretty low too,” he said. “Lets get some dinner before we spend the rest our money.”
After dinner, I worked the $40 up to $80 over the next hour or so and then, promptly lost it all in about 10 minutes. I fed a $20 into the devil machine and in another five minutes that was gone, too.
I had given up. I took my last $20 and went looking for James and Charlotte. They were out, too.
I handed the $20 to James and we went to the nearest dollar slots. The second pull landed a $100 jackpot.
Finally our luck was turning. We stayed at that dollar slot machine and paid for two-dollar pulls until all that money was gone again.
“I’m going’ to bed,” Charlotte said.
The smart one went to bed while my degenerate cousin and I decided how we might be able to get more money.
“Well, I think there is a fifty in the ash tray in the car,” he said. “But Charlotte would kill me.”
“Wait, can you use a SEARS card in an ATM?” I asked frantically, going through my wallet.
“No, you idiot.”
“Wait, I got an idea,” I said. “I’ve only got about 50 cents left in my checking account but I think I saw where you can do cash advances.”
I was almost giddy as a swiped my card and got a $100 advance… on my debit card. I purposefully went into the red on my checking account in order to gamble more. Seriously, who does that?
I took the printout to the cashier; she had me sign some stuff, then inked my thumb and made me push it down on the paper.
“Great,” I thought. “For all of eternity my thumbprint will live in a back room at the Lauberge du Lac.”
I imagined it hung on some corkboard in the back where the casino employees could look at it on a coffee break for a good laugh.
Fear and Loathing in Louisiana
“I can’t believe you did that,” James said. He was laughing hard now.
“I know, I know, just give me my damn money.”
I’m sure you can guess how this one goes. We lost it all. Well not all of it; there was about $10 left. All my hopes and dreams rested on those ten dollars. I pulled the lever; the three wheels spun quickly and stopped abruptly. Loser. We sat there and waited for the waitress came around.
“Two Coors Lights,” we said.
The drinks were free but only as long as you were gambling. We spent one dollar, pulled the lever, watched it miss, then waited for the beer girl to come back. No way in hell we’re leaving millionaires so we might as well leave drunk.
The digital reading on the slot machine showed a No. 1. One pull left. I pulled it and walked away without watching. I lost.
“Well you’re not supposed to go to bed in a casino,” James said. “Usually you stay up and gamble all night but…”
We had nothing left so we went to bed. I was out $290. Idiot.
I slept really well that night despite my stupidity, and I woke up with a renewed feeling of luck. Idiot.
My cousin apparently felt the same way.
“Hey, uh, you want to go do what we did last night?” he said.
I knew what he meant. His wife wouldn’t let him have any money and I was young and dumb and had a piece of plastic that magically gave me money I didn’t have.
“Yeah, I’m feeling good today,” I said.
We headed back to the ATM, only this time I had called my mom and asked if she could put $250 in my checking account first thing Monday morning. She reluctantly agreed. (I didn’t tell her it was for gambling but I think she knew what was up. I’m an idiot.)
This time I got $150 out went to the cashier who again scanned my i.d. and fingerprinted me.
We started with a different plan this time. We were on the floor early enough to get a seat at one of the $10 black jack tables. For better or worse, black jack would be our game.
So there we were; a pregnant wife in an oversized shirt, a late 20-something in an oversized, black one-pocket T-shirt, and me; a motley crew to say the least.
We played a little black jack and we won. Our luck had turned, finally. Charlotte sat in the seat, James told her what to do, and I stored the money in my pocket, and my pockets began filling up. We floated around to a few different tables, and we kept winning. Up over $400 dollars at one point, neared $500, and then fell back to $420.
“Alright guys, I’m ready to go,” Charlotte said.
We weren’t going to argue. I practically skipped to the cashier as my heavy pockets swung back and forth with the weight off the poker chips.
“What can I get for this many?” I asked jokingly as I emptied my pockets.
I can’t remember the exact amount. I think it was like $390 or $400. I was down roughly $40 for the weekend but that was a hundred times better than being out $440
Charlotte had to use the restroom and get a drink before we finally took off. It took probably five minutes, tops, but I had money now and what I thought was a lucky slot machine giving me a dirty look.
Her five-minute detour cost me $40. The whole time my cousin is laughing at me.
“That’s it, get me out of here,” I said. “I’m never going to a casino again as long as I live.”
If the story ended here, then all is well and Jim learns a relatively cheap lesson that he can tell you all about as a public service. But the story doesn’t end here. On the way home, we passed another slots-only casino named Delta Downs.
“Can we please stop?” James asked Charlotte. “We always say we’ll stop here but we never do.”
She didn’t say anything but I knew she was the only sensible one in the car. No way she was going to stop at another casino. Then we slowed down, and the turn signal clicked on and we were merging onto the exit ramp.
I was again filled with that unbridled excitement of the chance to win money, lots of money. Maybe I’ll come out of this place a millionaire. I’m an idiot.
I spent all my time in the High Roller room on the five-dollar slots. James was cheering me on at every pull.
“James is living vicariously through you Jimmy,” Charlotte said.
“Well I can’t let him down,” I thought. “If that was true it means I’m the one actually living vicariously. Right?”
And another $20 was swallowed up.
Long story short I lost it all. Gone in an hour or so.
We left Delta Downs and on the way home stopped at a Burger King. I didn’t really feel like eating. My stomach hurt.
“I know, I know, just give me my damn money.”
I’m sure you can guess how this one goes. We lost it all. Well not all of it; there was about $10 left. All my hopes and dreams rested on those ten dollars. I pulled the lever; the three wheels spun quickly and stopped abruptly. Loser. We sat there and waited for the waitress came around.
“Two Coors Lights,” we said.
The drinks were free but only as long as you were gambling. We spent one dollar, pulled the lever, watched it miss, then waited for the beer girl to come back. No way in hell we’re leaving millionaires so we might as well leave drunk.
The digital reading on the slot machine showed a No. 1. One pull left. I pulled it and walked away without watching. I lost.
“Well you’re not supposed to go to bed in a casino,” James said. “Usually you stay up and gamble all night but…”
We had nothing left so we went to bed. I was out $290. Idiot.
I slept really well that night despite my stupidity, and I woke up with a renewed feeling of luck. Idiot.
My cousin apparently felt the same way.
“Hey, uh, you want to go do what we did last night?” he said.
I knew what he meant. His wife wouldn’t let him have any money and I was young and dumb and had a piece of plastic that magically gave me money I didn’t have.
“Yeah, I’m feeling good today,” I said.
We headed back to the ATM, only this time I had called my mom and asked if she could put $250 in my checking account first thing Monday morning. She reluctantly agreed. (I didn’t tell her it was for gambling but I think she knew what was up. I’m an idiot.)
This time I got $150 out went to the cashier who again scanned my i.d. and fingerprinted me.
We started with a different plan this time. We were on the floor early enough to get a seat at one of the $10 black jack tables. For better or worse, black jack would be our game.
So there we were; a pregnant wife in an oversized shirt, a late 20-something in an oversized, black one-pocket T-shirt, and me; a motley crew to say the least.
We played a little black jack and we won. Our luck had turned, finally. Charlotte sat in the seat, James told her what to do, and I stored the money in my pocket, and my pockets began filling up. We floated around to a few different tables, and we kept winning. Up over $400 dollars at one point, neared $500, and then fell back to $420.
“Alright guys, I’m ready to go,” Charlotte said.
We weren’t going to argue. I practically skipped to the cashier as my heavy pockets swung back and forth with the weight off the poker chips.
“What can I get for this many?” I asked jokingly as I emptied my pockets.
I can’t remember the exact amount. I think it was like $390 or $400. I was down roughly $40 for the weekend but that was a hundred times better than being out $440
Charlotte had to use the restroom and get a drink before we finally took off. It took probably five minutes, tops, but I had money now and what I thought was a lucky slot machine giving me a dirty look.
Her five-minute detour cost me $40. The whole time my cousin is laughing at me.
“That’s it, get me out of here,” I said. “I’m never going to a casino again as long as I live.”
If the story ended here, then all is well and Jim learns a relatively cheap lesson that he can tell you all about as a public service. But the story doesn’t end here. On the way home, we passed another slots-only casino named Delta Downs.
“Can we please stop?” James asked Charlotte. “We always say we’ll stop here but we never do.”
She didn’t say anything but I knew she was the only sensible one in the car. No way she was going to stop at another casino. Then we slowed down, and the turn signal clicked on and we were merging onto the exit ramp.
I was again filled with that unbridled excitement of the chance to win money, lots of money. Maybe I’ll come out of this place a millionaire. I’m an idiot.
I spent all my time in the High Roller room on the five-dollar slots. James was cheering me on at every pull.
“James is living vicariously through you Jimmy,” Charlotte said.
“Well I can’t let him down,” I thought. “If that was true it means I’m the one actually living vicariously. Right?”
And another $20 was swallowed up.
Long story short I lost it all. Gone in an hour or so.
We left Delta Downs and on the way home stopped at a Burger King. I didn’t really feel like eating. My stomach hurt.