I am not a gambler, though I do enjoy a rare interlude with the slot machines. My sister-in-law and traveling companion is a different sort. She loves Blackjack.
On a recent family visit to Maryland we planned a short excursion to Atlantic City. I hadn’t been there in forty years and had only a vague memory of a sleepy seaside colony. Things have changed drastically. Huge gambling casinos dot the boardwalk: Caesar’s, the Trump Plaza, the Hilton, Bali’s, etc.
We visited as many of the astonishing palaces as our limited energy permitted and lost a bit at the slots. The machines of today were a huge disappointment. In the past, I remembered plunking in a few dimes, pulling the handle and then seeing those lovely cherries line up to the joyful tinkle of coins landing in the tray.
We found it hard to find a machine with cherries, and in most, one pushed a button rather than pulled a handle. We dropped no coins in the slot. Instead we had to use paper bills or vouchers. It was no longer fun.
I quickly exhausted my self-allotted funds and had no desire to continue pushing buttons anyway. My sister-in-law hurried off to the gaming tables, while I wandered aimlessly about the cavernous expanse of flashing lights, clanging machines, and loud music. I wondered how long I would have to stay—-until I made some interesting new friends.
It was late afternoon, and the Baccarat room was still empty. The dealers stood idly expectant behind their tables. I approached two tuxedo-clad women and explained that I wasn’t going to play and wouldn’t know how if I did. They offered to teach me, but seemed happy to chat instead. They said that neither of them knew anything about gambling until they were taught. Some training was on the job, but they got most of it at gambling school. The course lasted a month or two, and students had to pay their own tuition. After the completion of the courses, prospective dealers auditioned for their positions.
As a senior lady and with tongue in cheek, I asked if I could get a job there. Cheryl, a pretty blonde, said, “Of course. They’ll take anyone.” She apologized quickly and said that I was in great shape. I was somewhat mollified. They introduced me to their boss who looked like a stockbroker and who did not offer me a job. Even if I was in great shape.
I asked what had sent them in this vocational direction. One replied, “The money. Especially for one without a college degree, the pay is good.”
Neither of these young women gambled. They believed that, in general, you couldn’t win, that the odds were against you. They said a few people had occasional luck, but most did not; it was everyone’s privilege to gamble, but too often people came in with their Social Security checks and left it all with the dealers.
When still no customers had arrived, we continued our conversation. Both of these women had families nearby. One had an easy commute right in Atlantic City, but the other drove north each day from her home in Cape May.
They said that one of the biggest drawbacks to their job was the smoke. Although smoking had been banned in most public places, the casinos still permitted it.
By the time I found my sister-in-law she had won fifty dollars and was delighted, but I think I had a better time. I decided, however, that when I got home, I’d look up gambling schools on the Internet. I could learn how to play Blackjack, and I, too, might win fifty dollars.
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