Local Voyeur
There appears to be no recession in Las Vegas. While the rest of the country’s economic system is crumbling, and people are fighting to stay in their homes, the people I see here don’t seem to be affected at all. Who are these people that have no mortgages and unlimited cash to throw around? Maybe they’ve already lost out and have decided to go for broke one last time. Or could it be that betting on blackjack or craps is now safer than investing in the stock market or their 401(k)? Or maybe it’s just that the casino I happen to be in is the casino equivalent of a local dive bar. Drinks are cheaper, betting limits are much more affordable, and they advertise a guy dressed up as a leprechaun who walks on the bar pouring shots into people’s gaping maws. Sadly I don’t see him here today. He must have taken his pot of gold elsewhere, or lost it by investing it in those bastards at AIG.
O’Sheas Casino can be best described as a giant drunken party. It’s kind of dingy inside, people are regularly hooting and yelling at the craps table, and at certain points in the night I smelled vomit permeating the smoky haze. It could also be left over from a previous night, as the carpet doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned in months. I have a suspicion the various smells could be a result of the semi walled-off beer pong area at the second bar at the back of the casino. There is no gambling going on here (other than with the health of one’s liver), but the room is packed with people in their 20s and 30s tossing ping pong balls into cups of low quality swill beer. The losers (or winners, depending on how you look at it) chug the remaining cups of beer. Right now some nerd hipster with horn rimmed glasses is standing up on one of the tables, celebrating his victory. Surrounding the beer pong pit on one side is a food court right out of your local mall, with Subway, Burger King, Mamma Mia’s Pizzeria, and a wing joint named Just Wingin’ It. Combine fast food with the amount of chugging one has to endure while playing beer pong and, well, you can see where the vomit may have come from. And as if this place didn’t already encourage some bad ideas abetted by mass alcohol consumption, Vince Neil of Motley Crue has his own tattoo parlor on the premises. You never know, getting Metallica – Metal UpYour Ass, or REO Speedwagon Forever tattooed on your back might seem like a great idea at 4 AM after 17 shots of tequila.
The poker table where I am sitting affords a great view of the Las Vegas Strip, as it is located right at the wide entrance of the casino. It’s as if several large garage doors have been opened next to each other onto the street. The playing cards are spotted and faded. It doesn’t look like the deck has been changed in months. The poker chips are beaten up and have spots of a brown-black tar-like substance on them that sometimes make them stick together. Many people of varying states of cleanliness must have touched them over the years. I try to put that thought out of my mind. To avoid being labeled a hypocrite, it must be pointed out that I am also part of this country’s problem of fiscal irresponsibility. Before sitting down, I give away $100 by betting on black on the roulette wheel. Just now, I am another $200 poorer due to a poor attempt at bluffing. But I’ll win it back, just a few more hands, the luck has to turn, right? Right?
