The Pressure of Luck

This weekend the weather promised to be so lovely Robert suggested we spend the day Sunday in New Hope.


I thought this was an excellent idea.

We decided to check out a newly opened casino in Pennsylvania first.

I hadn't been to a casino for years.

The last time I was in one was in Atlantic City. I went with my dad and it was not a fun experience.

He gave me $50 in credit to use at a slot machine, then disappeared to play at the tables.

I sat down, hit the button and got two alike with the third just a little off center.

So close. If that third one was just a little lower …

Tried it again, certain I could mentally convince all three items to line up for me and that we were all in this together.

If the machine made me a winner, it would be a winner too. Everyone would want to play it.

Lost again.

After too much time spent losing a lot, winning a little, losing more, I was down to $25.

I thought of all the things I could buy with $25.

A nice lunch.

A hat.

Mascara.

I thought of all the things I could buy with $50.

A better lunch.

A better hat.

Better mascara.

Who knows what wonderful things could happen on a day spent eating a fabulous lunch while wearing a fantastic hat, eyelashes done up with exceptional mascara.
 
All those untold opportunities lost to this uncaring machine.


I stopped "playing" at $25 and cashed out, relieved not to have lost it all.

I found my dad who wasn't nearly in the turmoil I was and we went to eat at a buffet.

I had many, many shrimp with cocktail sauce, some pouffy desserts and I was ready to go.

This weekend, Robert decided he would play with $300.

If he won, great. If not, no big deal.

Right, I thought. $300. No big deal.

We sat at a blackjack table and Robert put some chips down.

He lost.

My stomach dropped two feet.

Some more chips.

He won.

Lost.

Lost, lost, won, won, lost, lost, won, won, lost.

It went on and on for a while with more or less the same value of chips.

I felt pressure to be a form of good luck, but this apparently is not a role at which I shine.

I began to wonder if I was, in fact, a cooler.

I didn't dare mention this though, worried that the sound of the term alone could cast a losing spell on the day.

I was at a loss for how to react. So I sat there. Expressionless. My stomach dropping lower and lower.

I didn't want to do nothing, so I tried sending positive energy.
 
I thought of praying to the gods of blackjack for a win, but I couldn't imagine that prayer being prioritized in our favor.


Lose, lose, lose.

I suggested to Robert we take a break from this table.

We walked around and checked out the other tables.

There seemed to be a disproportionate number of people in wheelchairs with oxygen tanks to the general population.

Had they spent their whole lives reaching for a win that never came?

We spotted another blackjack table with few people so we sat down and started playing again.

More of the same - winning and losing.

When the money was down to $175 I suggested to Robert he cut his losses and we leave.

I saw it as winning $175. Staunching the bleeding of an open wound.

Yes, some blood was let, but a good amount was saved for the veins.

Robert saw it as losing the potential to win $1,000 - $300 a perfectly reasonable price to pay for the chance to win much more.

Maybe it's a fundamental difference in the way we see the world.

The way I see it, if I risk losing something, I will lose it. I’m opening up my hand and letting the money blow away.

The way Robert sees it, winning is at least as much a possibility as losing, and if you aren’t risking more than you’re OK with losing, it’s really win-win.

I think it comes down to the willingness to make mistakes. When I make a mistake, I could punish myself forever for it.

But is it a mistake if, by taking the risk of losing a relatively trivial amount, you’re allowing the possibility of something good happening?