I peeled off a dollar bill, slipped it into the slot machine, pulled the arm, and lost my money. Viva Las Vegas.
Gambling is everywhere in Vegas; slot machines are in the airport, in 7-Elevens – even in casinos.
As I left the airport I was struck by a billboard that mischievously read: “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”, which I assume referred to gambling losses, which last year totalled $US10.6 billion ($12 billion).
On arriving at my hotel on The Strip, I began to understand why 87 per cent of visitors to this place gamble (and lose an average of $480 a pop): to get to my room I actually had to walk through the casino. There was a total absence of ID checks, natural light and clocks, and the place was chock-full of liquored-up losers who had the look of defeat written all over their faces.
No way was I going to get sucked in again by the slots. But as I walked through the valley of darkness I noticed that a pretty cocktail waitress (wearing a Madonna-inspired get-up) was handing out free booze. Papa don’t preach – I’m about to get free booze!
Comfortably seated, I pulled out a $20 bill, fed a Kenny Rogers-themed slot machine, and ordered my free Corona beer. Right from the get-go I got the feeling that Kenny was working against me.
The Gambler kept on urging me to bet, condescendingly calling me “partner”. He never once offered me any advice on when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em, when to walk away, or when to run – which should have been about five minutes before my $20 Corona arrived.
With 21 bucks down the drain, I decided to jump on the monorail, which in some parts of The Strip stops every 100m (any more than this is too far to walk for your super-sized, calorie-consuming American).
It took me around the world – past the Eiffel Tower, the New York skyline, the Statue of Liberty, the pyramids of Egypt, and, for a touch of medieval history, King Arthur’s digs.
Yet, wanting to lose my money somewhere that captured the essence of US culture, I headed to Hooters Casino – a place famous for, well, hooters, and the $13.99 all-you-can-eat ribs.
Alas, it was the same story. The blokes sitting around the table appeared to be afflicted with the epidemic that runs rife in Vegas – the urge to get something for nothing. After a run of bad hands, the punters were having a communal pep talk, insisting that luck would soon swing in their favour. Which, of course, is Vegas logic at its best.
The odds are always stacked. That’s how they get the money to build these billion-dollar monuments to bad taste.
. In any gambling game, the longer you punt the more you lose (which explains the free beer).
Of course there are exceptions to the rule – such as the person who wins the jackpot and walks away (permanently), or someone who can count cards without getting their arms broken. Neither was happening at Hooters the night I visited.
One of the few people in Vegas to ever really hit the jackpot is casino mogul Steve Wynn – a gambling addict’s son who revolutionised The Strip. He was quoted as saying that “the only way to make money in a casino is to own one”.
He should take a trip to our sunny shores. He’d be happy here, given that we hold the illustrious title of having the highest percentage of gamblers in the world.
Despite being the 52nd most populous nation, we have a fifth of the world’s pokies. We don’t have all-you-can-eat buffets or free beer – in the average suburban pokie place you’re lucky if you get cold cups of Nescafe – but we still manage to blow $15 billion a year.
Just like porn, vices tend to head online, and gambling is no exception. A study by Juniper Research estimates worldwide revenue from online and mobile gaming is expected to top $19 billion in 2009 – which appears to be enough fat for Richard Branson.
So much so he relaxed his famous Virgin criteria for starting a business (it must be high quality, innovative, good value, challenging to existing alternatives, and have a sense of fun) when he started Virgin Online Poker – possibly coming to the back of a Virgin Blue seat near you.
I’m not flying Virgin home, so I should have enough bucks to be back soon. Tread your own path!
Scott Pape is a licensed financial adviser and director Barefoot Investment Management.