cause of this obsession, but for

those addicts that scurry through
the casino floors, sinning is not more
important than that rush of winning.

The date is November 13, 2009,
and the setting is the Gran Villa Casino
in Burnaby. It is almost 2 a.m. in the
autumn air, but my best friend Adam
and I are looking to make some money.
We have already left the Starlight
Casino on Annacis Island with $500
dollars less than we came in with, but
that doesn’t stop us from changing
the scenery and perhaps our luck. As
we pull up in to the parking space
underneath the casino, we both agree
that this will be the last time we gamble
till the New Year. This agreement had
been made and broken many times but
it seems like Adam is dead set on it this
time.

Me in my Levis and dark dress shirt
and him in his track pants and generic
dark blue shirt, we push open the doors
into the casino. The usual lights dazzle
our eyes, the usual bells and whistles
ring in our ears and the smell of rotten
morale and desperation swims into our
noses. Right next to the doors there are
a set of ATMs just screaming, “Come
on, take some more money and try
again.”

Pride comes before the fall. That
does not stop my sauntering through the
casino floor past the slot machines and
the lifeless drones parked in front of
them. Finally, we reach our haven, our
sanctuary for the night — the Blackjack
table. The
three-and-
a-half foot
leather
chairs,
straightened perfectly, surround the
half-circle table and the dealer looks to
be putting on his best customer-service
face while rigidly standing with his
hands on the table in front of him. His
wrinkles distinguish him from the other
dealers as do the liver spots on the side
of his nearly balding head. I look at
Adam, trying to get a green light, but
he is ogling the digital sign next which
informs us of the table’s minimum ($25)
and maximum ($500) bets. I knock
Adam in the arm to wake him from his
daze. It is almost 3 a.m. but we’re not
quitting just yet; we’re here to make
some money.

We sit down in front of the dealer
and we each hand him five Robert
Bordens, the attending Pit Boss nods
in agreement, overseeing the currency
exchange. Not even one hand is played

I can be said that greed is the natural

 

with just the two of us before an
elderly Chinese couple walk up to
the table. The wife flings $500 into
the dealer’s hands while her husband
decorates his side of the table with

a few pink ($500), a few black
($100) and two handfuls of green
($25) chips. We place our bets and
the dealer drags his hand across the
table, end-to-end, to signify the end

fc

of betting. Then
come the cards.

Bust after bust, the dealer loses a
substantial number of hands and the
four of us celebrate gratefully, raking
in our winnings. The advantage
of playing at more pricey tables is
that there will be veteran gamblers
who know exactly what they are
doing. Blackjack, you see, is a team
effort. Adam is playing it safe like
he always does, while I increase my
wagers. Capping off at four black
chips, I watch as the cards keep
coming to the table’s liking. The
elderly couple only smile at each
other while Adam and I high five.

“My night’s done,” Adam says
nonchalantly as he pushes his greens
and blacks into the middle to upgrade

before leaving the table to get his
cash back. I take a look at my stack,
which has grown from only a few
greens and blacks to $4,500, and I
only think about the decision for half
a second before I choose to wager the
table limit. Adam stands behind me
with a cool profit in his wallet while
I take a few misguided hits while my
stack shrinks to half of what it once
was as Adam is constantly in my ear,

telling me to get out with

a profit. My brain has shut off—I can
only think about the rush of winning
and the need to build my chips back
to where they once were. Finally, the
final bet is taken from my side of the
table before Adam and I walk away
from the supposed sanctuary.

“So you actually gon’ do it?”
Adam asks for perhaps the 16" time
as we walk gingerly towards the
security booth at the entrance of the
casino. Once again, I am leaving a
casino with an empty wallet.

“Hey, I am looking for a
voluntary self-exclusion. Could you
help me with that?” I ask the burly
security guard and he talks into his
transceiver with lingo that neither

 

 

Adam nor I could possibly decipher.
After an embarrassing question-
and-answer period, they had all of
the information on my identification
cards. J have banned myself from all
Canadian gaming establishments for
six months. Adam reassures me that
it is the best possible solution as four
finely dressed security guards escort
us back to Adam’s car.
The scariest part of the whole
ordeal was feeling out of control.
The fixation and
obsession to make
money ate away the
part of my brain that
shouted, “Stop!” I felt
powerless after losing that one final
hand where I prayed to any and every
deity in the sky to begin another hot
streak.

It has been 109 days since I’ve
stepped foot in a casino and that may
not sound like a feat but it does when
there were weeks when the casino
saw my face more than their full-
time staff. In 73 days, my ban will be
lifted, and the question is will I still
feel the need or the greed to take the
risks? Or have I finally kicked the
habit that has plagued my life since
childhood?

Let the chips fall where they
may...

13