Ameristar Asyphxia
I’ve never gambled in a Casino – not once. I really don’t see what all the fuss is about, so last night I thought I would go check out the Ameristar Casino, just a few miles from my hotel.
I pulled into the parking deck through the pulsating orifice of what looked to be a mammoth river creature bedecked in phosphorescent twinkle and costume jewelry. Literally, the entrance to the Ameristar looks a gaping maw, with row after serrated row of light bulb teeth.
Upon entering the Casino, I am overwhelmed in an orgy of light. Vixen red. Debutante Blue. Siren yellow. Money Green. My eyes become small Lite Brite orbs, mirroring the frantic Morse code pulsating from each machine: Dot Dot dash Dash Dash Dot Dot Dot Dot Dash Dash Dot. If only I understood the language, I’m sure I might fare better.
As I walk the casino floor, I navigate through groups of geriatric slots militia. Grey skinned gamers work row after row of video slots; safe cracking specialists trying to crack the code of blinking lights and minimum bets. I’m a tourist lost in a catacomb of games that mean nothing. Each machine is a glass menagerie of Blue Ducks, Red Stars, and Pot’s of Gold, Triple Bars, Horseshoes, and Dollar Signs.
After a few minutes of dazed walking, I manage to find a row of slots that are unoccupied and off the beaten path. I sit down, and spend (I kid you not) 10 minutes trying to figure how feed cash into the machine. I look like a chimp slapping away at a calculator I’m sure, until I realize that I’m supposed to slide my Ameristar issued ID card into the Machine before it will take my cash. Whew, I’m relieved that I finally figure out how to give my money away, and I turn my attention to the task of getting my gamble on.
Um… Tap… Huh…Tap… I'm back to being a chimp. I’m a jet-setting technical Instructor who specializes in systems training, and I can’t figure which of three buttons I should push. Damn it. Oh. Change Bet. Max Bet. Lose. Win. “Ding-ding-ding”. I’m up. I’m down. I’m down. I’m down. Max Bet. Max BET. MAX BET! Damn you to hell you piece of metal shi….Wait! Win! I hit Triple Bars and I win $3. I rule. I am the MASTER SLOT SAMURAI of St. Louis. Bet! Bet! BET!
I lose $30 is as many minutes. I can’t step away from the machine. It’s like I’m stuck in an undertow. I don’t want to move. And in that moment I realize the deathtrap opiate den that is the modern casino. I am asphyxiating on the fumes of second hand smoke and the promise of a 25 cent Utopia. I manage to step away from the chair, a little dazed. Fight or flight takes in and start a quick walk to the exit.
I walk across the hall to the All You Can Eat Buffet and breathe in the sweet fumes of BBQ Beef Ribs that are as large as my forearm. Once my head clears, I eat $30 worth of Vanilla and Chocolate swirl yogurt and get the hell out of dodge.