Out of the sun-eaten cotton fields of Mississippi, they rise like beacons of good tiding from the desolation that flanks them. At least an hour from the urban oasis of Memphis and past numerous billboards harkening their splendor, these self-sustaining complexes breathe life into both the agricultural lands that are their nearest neighbors and the myriad visitors that flock to their call every day. To these visitors, the clank of coins dropping from a winning slot machine pull is as sweet as a newborn baby’s laugh. Ripping the paper off of a roll of quarters with satisfaction, the dirt that coats their hands as they handle both their wagers and their winnings gleams like the proud mark of a warrior. Welcome to Tunica: Vegas with a southern accent.
The typical Georgetown student (well, the typical student anywhere) tends to have a relatively uniform idea of how to celebrate a 21st birthday, usually involving the Tombs or some other site of mass alcohol consumption. If that seems too stereotypical an assumption, I think that it’s fairly safe to say that he or she wouldn’t rank casino hopping with his or her grandmother too high on the list of fun times. Given the endearing kookiness of my family, however, hitting the slot machines with grandma was the perfect way to spend time on my 21st.
We arrived at our first casino around noon, but the place was already hopping. The dim lighting and smoky fogs surrounding much of the over-60 crowd lent a distinctive ambience to the spread of machines stretching out behind the security officer guarding the tinted glass entrance door. (I use the word “guarding” loosely, as I wasn’t even carded, though I look more like 11 than 21). In keeping with family tradition, at least among the female members of my family, our first stop was not the cashier, not the video poker machines, not the roulette table, but the bathroom.
To reach the restrooms at this particular casino, it was necessary to leave the playing floor and venture into the connected resort’s lobby. The typical “hotel” appearance of these amenities made me all but oblivious to any possible inconsistencies in their d?cor. But then I saw them out of the corner of my eye: bright red, plastic hypodermic needle receptacles placed around the restroom. Did my eyes deceive me? Had I somehow stumbled into the hotel’s infirmary rather than the restroom? Did their presence say something practical about the correlation between old age and the occurrence of diabetes? Or was the gray-haired couple I saw huddled over their cups of coins, gorging the nickel slots really a pair of hardened heroin addicts?
After our stopover in the bathroom was finished, it was time to win my tuition money for next year (I figured I would be responsible and take care of that first, only then using the remainder to finance the purchase of my new luxury car). Being ever the high roller, I smugly cashed my $20 bill and got my “Winners Circle Players Club” card so that I too could start earning points that would eventually earn me a gardening set or baseball cap proudly emblazoned with the casino’s horseshoe logo.
Which machine to try first, I didn’t know, so I made my way to the relative safety of the back corner where the nickel machines stood and proceeded to lose game after game. I had a bit of luck once I moved to the quarter video poker machines, but come on! Could you really expect me to stop while I was ahead? I could hit the jackpot. I could turn my three dollars of winnings into thousands. (Diazepam) I could have. I didn’t.
After eventually abandoning that first unlucky hall, I ended the day $20 poorer. The excursion wasn’t a total bust, though, as I got a birthday package from the casino complete with two complementary passes to the buffet. When we drove away from the compounds and seemingly back to civilization, I noticed the line of cars passing in the opposite direction was growing increasingly steadier as their passengers heeded the siren calls of each operation offering “the loosest slots in town.” The pull was strong and each person’s mind, no doubt, harbored the same foolish expectations of fortune that I too had entertained. Everybody wants to triple their paycheck and win a free Polaroid picture of themselves in the process. And if today isn’t so lucky, there is always that free gardening set. What more incentive could you need?
Rachel Sierminski is a junior in the College. She knows when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em, when to walk away and when to run.
