Swearing at machines and its February man
by Royal Hopper
A man wearing a pony tail and salt and pepper hair styled in a manner people in 1979 would be familiar with curses loudly as he stares at the face on the machine in front of him and makes veiled threats of beating the crap out of it if it doesn’t give him his money.
When the face does not reply he pauses shakes a fist at the face and then reaches in his pocket _ _ _ for another quarter because the face he is threatening is the front face on the slot machine he is playing.
In another part of the City of Sin an intoxicated man and his boyfriend are approached by the order keepers of one of the cities casino order keepers. “What day of the week is it?” asks one of the order keepers..
“February,” replies the man.
Slot machines are simple things .You put money in them they give you more money or they take it .. They don’t have wardrobes or fashion sense or smiles ..or even faces but people tend to view them as people who can be intimidated into paying them the well deserved jackpot they came to Vegas to win.. Alcohol is even simpler device. Drink to much of it and you get stupid especially if you are already stoned or not that bright to begin with.
Back in the casino.. . . .
“You bastard,” the gambler said extending his middle finger and pointing it straight in the air in the time tested sign of disrespect.
“F*** you,” he said to the machine flipping it off yet again and pushing the extended middle finger toward the slot machine as if the hunk of metal, plastic and glass would suddenly pay more attention with a finger in it’s face.
Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be like many of the actual people in the City of Sin slot machine don’t have feelings or minds or mouths or fingers for that matter. The machine still took his money as such machines are prone to do.
Now back at the pool the two party animals eventually admit to the casino order keepers they just met two days ago and didn’t know each others real name. The intoxicated one of the pair continues to answer questions with the same aplomb.
“February,” he answers again.
This City is built around the idea that luck is a real thing and can be altered by gestures rude words or the right combination of both. For whatever reason people who come here seem to believe the drunk and stupid in the City of Sin is somehow different than it is in LA or Nebraska or Idaho.
Finally remembering what city he was in and who the president and stumbles off to his room with his new companion. Later that same night a man bemoans his missing wallet and states . . . “She really looked kike a nice girl.” and another asks for protection from his girlfriend who mysteriously tried to hit him with several heavy objects acreaming something about a blonde he had “talked to.”
“I don’t what her problem was. . . “ he said.
Such is life in the City of Sin.
Take care Sinners