Quit While You Are Ahead

Chiming bells and flashing green and blue neon lights encircled a crowd around me. On my first trip to a casino, I won $20,000, betting a single ten-dollar bill. A swarm of bees buzzed around me, each impatiently waiting a turn at the hot seat, drooling to taste the sweet nectar of my fortune. Finally, I grabbed my printout ticket to cash out and leave. An anxious middle-aged woman parked her purse next to the slot machine, eager to dip her hand in the honey pot, and snatched up my seat.

Waiting in line, I contemplated the most practical means of spending my winnings. I drew a little black notebook from my handbag. The cover, a bit tattered and dated, had the charm of a vintage library book no longer available in print. The pages contained material broken down into three different types of lists. This personal directory guided me in making essential decisions and setting goals. My files are categorized into Things I Want to Do, Things I Wish For, and Things I Need to Work On.

I flipped to the Things I Want to Do section, checking off "Pay back student loans." Fresh out of college, this cash will alleviate a heavy debt on my shoulders, giving me a clean slate. I also marked off "Pay for Muffin's surgery." Muffin, the family cat, recently turned fifteen. Mom and Dad had enough bills, so the least I could do was pay for her hip procedure. Finally, under the Things I Wish for Section, I noted, "win a large sum of money."

As I looked up, realizing I was next in line, someone gently tugged at my arm. I looked over my right shoulder to find an older man leaning on a polished chestnut cane. His eyeglasses were crooked, somewhat odd, but his silver hair had the most adorable tiny curls. Ultimately, his sweet little smile melted my heart. He wore a navy blue cardigan, khakis, and worn-out brown loafers that still looked comfortable.

"Oh, my, you are a redhead with sparkling blue eyes. That is a rare beauty, like sighting a mermaid in the ocean. You must be Irish. My name is Gino, but folks around here call me Uncle Gino."

"Hello, Gino, excuse me, I mean Uncle Gino, my name is Mary, and I am 100% Irish."

"I saw you hit the jackpot and wanted to come over and offer my congratulations. You must be thrilled."

"I am in complete shock. It is my first time, and in just twenty minutes, I hit big money. It was exhilarating, but I am now cashing out and going home to my parents. It’s best to quit when ahead."

"Yes, dear, I completely understand, but Mary, what if I was to tell you that I can help you double, possibly even triple, your earnings? I realize that we just met, but I am a bit of an old pro here. I have a good feeling about you, kid, and would love nothing more than to see you walk out of here with a sizeable nest egg beyond your wildest dreams."

"That all sounds quite lovely, but there are no guarantees," I replied.

"Yes, this is true, but you will never know unless you are willing to take the risk. In life, there are no guarantees, just opportunities. Besides, you already have the luck of the Irish, and I am a known good luck charm of sorts around here. So, Allow me to be your leprechaun, so to speak, and lead you to your pot of gold."

I considered Gino's words and disregarded my initial cashing out and leaving policy. Something about this man seemed sincere. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather. His words were articulate; his voice was soothing, and his smile; so tender and innocent.

"Okay, Gino, I responded. So, I will put my faith in you and stay a little longer."

He winked at me with a twinkle in his eyes and extended his hand, leading me back onto the casino floor. As a complete novice without a clue about games and strategies, I entrusted Uncle Gino to point me in the right direction. Our first stop, Roulette, appeared to be all about luck. Gino briefly went over betting and numbers, trying to keep everything simple. Then he instructed me to play for at least 38 spins, the same number of spaces on the wheel. I attempted to predict the odds of specific numbers hitting, especially number twenty-one. My curiosity kept me at the table for an hour when I doubled my profits to $40,000, just as Gino forecasted.

We sat for a short break and celebrated with drinks. Uncle Gino ordered us Manhattans, a potent cocktail, for me "burning my chest hairs," as my Grandpa used to say, but for my older acquaintance, the bitters slid down his throat like ice cream.

"Thanks to you, I doubled my winnings, but I think it is quitting time. So I will cash out now and give you $10,000 for your generosity."

I hugged Uncle Gino and jumped out of my seat.

"Oh, dear, do not worry about old Gino here. It is my pleasure, but are you certain that you want to quit now? Give it just a bit longer. The third time is the charm, you know. Imagine how much more money you could potentially walk out of here with tonight. Consider this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that is within your grasp, please."

His furrowed brow and folded arms were quite convincing.

"You have a valid point; I nodded. Just one more game, then I must be on my way."

"That a girl! I have the perfect game: poker. Now follow me."

Again, Uncle Gino briefly schooled me on the rules, but this table's aura differed from the previous games. The lightning-speed appeal of slot machines fizzled, and the enticing whirling roulette wheel abruptly stopped. Dominant of the skilled and hungry, a pack of wolves surrounded me. Four unapproachable characters were seated in silence; all faces were absent of expression.

The only woman was in her early sixties. Her dress, a lovely silk lavender, was spoiled by gaudy baubles and cheap perfume; an unlit cigar hung from her mouth, and her lips were painted a cheeky shade of red. Seated beside her from left to right, a well-to-do businessman in his mid-thirties donning an Armani suit, flashing a Rolex watch, a middle-aged cowboy wearing a Stetson hat and bright turquoise shirt, and a young doctor still in his white lab coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck.

Uncle Gino floated among a dozen onlookers in the background while I bet high wages per his orders, trying to fit in with the other players. I avoided making direct eye contact and humming, which I do when I am nervous, yet sweat pooling at my crown trickled down my cheeks, and I couldn't avoid wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I sensed the raised eyebrows. I trembled at the occasional table tapping fingers and intermittent "Ahem-ahems" of clearing throats. I could almost taste the sufficed appetite of wolves licking their chops, and Sure enough, two hours later: all chips were in, mine, leaving me flat broke as the dame, still wagging her unlit cigar, squealed in victory.

I rose from the table, keeping my head down. Uncle Gino steadied my posture, patting me on the back.

"I am so sorry, kid. Come on."

He secured my arm around his waist. My wobbling knees kept with his pace, and we shuffled along to the casino lobby. He sat me on a bench and told me to rest, promising to return shortly. I felt overwhelming guilt, knowing the volume of cash I pissed away. My throbbing temple and aching gut were distress signals I could not ignore. I put my head down on my lap and sobbed.

About fifteen minutes later, a hoarse throat-clearing cough jolted me to attention. I lifted my head, and streaming tears instantly froze over. Standing before me was Uncle Gino but not the cuddly frail Grandpa Gino that I knew. This Gino stood up nice and tall without any support. A crisp grey pinstriped suit replaced his cardigan and khakis. His loafers became fine Italian leather soles, and the crooked eyeglasses were missing. Instead, his curly locks slicked back, spiking slightly on top.

Clearing his throat, "Mary, I know you are in shock, but I need to explain something. I frequent here often, however, not as a patron, as an employee."

He tapped his gold-plated nametag.

"I work in security monitoring players, payouts, card counters, and so forth. My duties entail keeping as much money in-house as possible. Whenever someone hits the jackpot as you did, I encourage players to further their bets by moving on to other games. It is the casino’s strategy to maximize our revenue. Perhaps you have heard the expression, "The house always wins."

My quivering lower lip tautened, and heat surges flushed my face.

"You are a con man I roared. You acted like an innocent, sweet old man who wanted to help, and I fell for it. You said you knew how to increase my earnings, and I listened. But you set me up to fail in poker at the end. You are a heartless liar and cheat!"

"Look, it is true; here at the casino, we try to persuade jackpot winners to invest back into the game, but make no mistake. I did not put a gun to your head or force you to do anything. At any moment, you were free to leave. Instead, you chose to trust the words of a stranger. The truth is you easily fell into a gambler's state of mind. I was only doing my job."

Gino pulled a sealed white envelope out of his breast pocket.

"Look, you seem like a nice girl, Mary, and I feel slightly guilty. However, here is $200 so that you do not leave empty-handed. There is much to learn from this experience, and you can walk away with more in your pockets than when you entered."

Gino handed me the envelope, then marched off, radioing an employee working the gaming floor.

I opened up my handbag and shoved the envelope to the very bottom. I took out my black notebook and sat for a few moments tracing the cover with my fingertips. Then, thumbing through the listings to the section marked Things I Need to Work On; I drew out a fluorescent orange marker from my purse highlighting "Make wiser decisions avoiding hasty mistakes. If something seems too good to be true, then odds are it probably is."