The gambler's eyes were cold and hard like granite as she stared right through me.  She had a perfect poker face, but my gut told me she wasn't bluffing.  I knew I should walk away, but I couldn't.  Too much was at stake.  I tuned out the noise of the casino, and made my move. 

And then it was over, almost before it began.  I had beaten her, but it was close.  Too close.  I had managed to reach the stool in front of the "Pig in a Poke" nickel slot machine less than a second ahead of her. 

She shot me a final dirty look, and then she was gone.  As the rustling made by her polyester slacks faded, I fed a nickel into the machine and pushed the button. 

And lost.  Again. 

It was the same story all over the casino.  I had tried every kind of slot machine I could find, and I just couldn't seem to win.  This was my first time in a casino, and things were not going well. 

Looking around me, I noticed that I was the only person under age 40 playing the nickel slots.  Heck, I seemed to be the only person under age 70.  Nickel slots were definitely my kind of game. 

I had last seen my wife over by the "progressive" quarter slots, whatever that means, where she was racking up win after win.   She had pounced on her "lucky" slot machine soon after we arrived at the casino.  It definitely wasn't her first time there.  I think anyone with their own "lucky" slot machine should probably join a support group. 

Meanwhile, I was losing my shirt.  My sad little bucket of nickels was rapidly emptying.  Soon, I was down to my last nickel.  As I dropped it in and pushed the button, I was overcome by the feeling that my luck had finally changed.  I would not be going home empty-handed. 

You know that great story you always hear about some poor sap betting his last nickel on a long shot and winning big?   Well, you won't be surprised to learn that nothing like that happened to me.  I lost my last nickel, not to mention my dignity when I had to ask my wife to pay the parking attendant because I had forgotten to put a little money back. 

She bought dinner, too.  I think she felt sorry for me. 

Ok, I hadn't really expected to like casino gambling, and I was right.  It just seemed like such a waste of time.  Not only was I broke and depressed, but my feet hurt and I had a headache from trying to use my ESP to make the stupid slot machine give me some money.  No, I don’t actually have any ESP, but I was willing to try anything there towards the end. 

Maybe casinos should have a drive-through window for people in a hurry.  You could just drive up, hand over all you money, get an "I'm a loser" bumper sticker, and get on with your life. 

I think a drive-through casino would be really successful.  But I wouldn't bet on it.

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