COLUMN: Slots: Bright lights and big dreams

From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '00 From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '00There is a place, not too far from here, where all your dreams can come true. Where money pours right into your open palms. Where the drinks are free, and the night is always young. And gambling! Make lots-o-money on Slots-o-Money. As I often find myself in the unenviable position of the designated driver, my perennial -- and as yet, unfulfilled -- goal of an Atlantic City evening is to make enough to afford a limo back to campus. The first couple of trips to Atlantic City are educational. Choose a casino. Learn how to play craps. Learn to separate the high rollers from the merely stupid. But many years of going to AC have done little to alleviate the undercurrent of guilt that begins the moment I see the casino lights across the Parkway. Wall Street suddenly seems like a noble enclave compared to this place, where money is spent for money's sake and casinos employ a range of misleading advertisements to entice us through their doors. It is the Statistics major's dubious advantage to know which bets are best. This means that I should know how to lose the least amount of money. I walk into every casino determined to apply my college education to lucrative pursuits, to beat the casino out of their chips. Combinations, probabilities and mutually exclusive hedges all crowd my brain as I think how to out-think the dealer. Inevitably, the only combination I need to know is the pin number for my ATM card. "Just think of the money as paying for an evening's entertainment," my friend says as he puts $200 on the table and has his fourth drink. I dutifully nod, agreeing that Trump Casino is a lot more exciting than Cinemagic. Thirty seconds later, when my $7 spending limit has disappeared, I still agree with him. I just wish the evening could be a little longer. And yet the cry goes up every couple of weeks. Regulars will insist these evenings of drunken gambling can be fun and profitable, but I struggle to experience either. I hate losing in general -- and I really hate losing money. "Just wait till you have a good night," my friend says. Well there was that time, three "Atlantic City, baby!"s back, when I almost won enough to buy a terrifically peppy Penn shirt made by well-paid foreign laborers. I had a feeling the roll would be 4. I just knew it would be 4. I was right, and only had myself to blame for betting on 5. I wonder on those nights of disappointment if I would not have been better off staying at Penn. At least it does not take an hour to get to Smoke's, and I can waste my money there on something worthwhile. But in this time of second-semester-seniorhood it is increasingly not chic to stay in West Philadelphia. Since Camden is not a healthy destination, Atlantic City is the obvious choice. "Just watch me gamble." I am now demoted to a doting gambler's girl, and as I look around the casino it seems I am the only one unhappy to be in that role. Even though it is someone else's money, I am nervous that I won't be Lady Luck. I feel like a worried old grandmother, until I notice that the old grandmothers by the slots hardly look worried. So it goes. The Atlantic City experience is repeated for eternity by New Jersey retirees, city dwellers and, of course, students looking for a good time. Perhaps it will surprise you -- it sure as hell surprises me -- to learn that I am often the one who suggests these trips to Atlantic City: "Come on, guys. There is nothing to do around here. It was so much fun last time. Sure, I'll drive. "I think this could be my night."