The Gambler's Creed

I got up from the poker table and was busted again. I have lived in the gambling mecca of Las Vegas for the past ten years. I moved here at age 25, and everybody who knew me said it was a bad idea. Ever since I was a teenager, I gambled on everything. Growing up on the rough streets of Chicago, everything was about survival—anyone who wanted to play cards or shoot dice sought out me, Stanley Pickens. Growing up, I was not a bad child; the worst thing that happened to me was when my mother came to my school, and my teachers would tell her. "Stanley is smart and capable, but he doesn't try." That's because I lived the life of the gambler's creed: One day, I will hit it big! I didn't have to try hard because my big day awaited me.

God gifted me with looks, athleticism, charm, charisma, and a great mind, yet I often said, "screw that; I'm taking the path with the least resistance." That path is what creates an addiction for most gamblers. Winning big would get us to our destiny without the hassles of working hard. Gamblers want to take the shortcut and convince themselves they will win one day and not have to work for a living.

I wasn't the only gambler in the neighborhood; our two-block grid was also a gambling mecca. No one knew why; people came from around the city to get in on some action. Most of the action occurred in or around the playground; the heavy action was at Pop's house, next door to the playground. Pops, an elderly man, sold marijuana and held gambling events where he got his cut to make money. He also threw parties for entertainment. Pop's was the hangout for most people who lived in the neighborhood. Filmore Street was a miniature Vegas.

One day, we all went to jail. Someone eventually got tired of all the noise and called the police on us. It was a full house. People were partying up front, and a room full of gamblers in the back. I was 16 years old. They took us to jail but only held us for a few hours and then released us. Since I was underage, my parents had to pick me up. I thought the ride home would be dreadful, but to my surprise, my parents joked about it all the way home.

Gambling always excited me. If something was going down, I was there. I worked throughout high school, so I always had my own money. Most people had their own money; we were not into robbing and stealing to get money to gamble, most of us worked, and some relied on their government welfare checks to do their bidding. The excitement of gambling had lured me away from my other talents, and it never let go. Now I sit here at age 35, trying to figure out what I am doing. I exited the table and realized I was back to square one.

When I first got to Vegas, I went hard. My ego got in the way, and I thought I was invincible. Vegas was alive, and I wanted it all! But, like any greedy person, I took a hit that nearly had me on the streets. Quickly I learned how to temper my enthusiasm by controlling my desires. My first attempt was to pay all my bills first, and whatever I had left was used for gambling, but that didn't work; I found myself borrowing money to make it to the next paycheck. Eventually, by the time I got my check, half was gone before I cashed it because I had to repay short-term loans. Needless to say, I got nowhere, so I cleaned the slate and devised a new plan.

My goal was to gamble as often as possible and not end up on the streets. I loved living in Las Vegas: the neon signs, busy streets, and the sounds of the casino. My senses called my name, and I got goosebumps whenever I walked into a casino. I had to find a happy medium that would allow me to live in a city I love and not go broke.

Next, I went to bigger, long-term loans. That was smart; now I had a wad of cash to gamble until I went broke and was stuck with another bill to pay. Sure, I paid off the short-term loans with the bigger loan; what do you think? Is this guy stupid? Don't answer that question just yet. All the long-term loan did was buy me some time to extend a habitual gambler's slow death.

Out of nowhere, ka-ching! Six thousand dollars, it had to happen. If you gamble long enough, you will win something. All it does to a gambler is perpetuate the sickness, deepen the disease, and make sure you return to the drawing board to keep playing until you are back to square one. I tried to do the right thing by paying off some of the loans I acquired over the years, but deep down inside; I knew it was a temporary fix. Once you lose the money you have after paying the bills, you know you have a fallback plan to borrow more money to play later. It's a vicious cycle, man.

Finally, you decide; enough is enough, and it's time to quit. A few days go by, and the itch is mounting. Next thing you know, it's been two weeks, and you are at the buffet table having lunch on the house because you earned it through all your gambling perks, and the sounds and smells begin to percolate your senses. You decide, what's the harm, I will try my luck at the poker machine for $20, and that's it! Five hundred dollars later, you now understand the slingshot effect. It happens with every addiction. You deprive yourself of something for a while, and when you give in, you usually overindulge. 

Ultimately, the perpetual cycle of making a fresh start, gambling again, temporarily quitting and eventually overindulging had me returning to square one quite often. I found new sources of money to gamble with that ultimately reduced me to a slave system. Luckily, it's just me because having a family or someone else who depends on me would exponentially magnify my return to square one. 

I left Vegas years ago, but still, I gamble and play the lottery. I can't get it out of my head that I will hit it big one day. What I have learned, though, is how to live with the disease and not let it ruin my life. So far, it's been good; I'm in the gambling again phase. Wish me luck; hopefully, my next story will be life after hitting it big! See, always dreaming.