An Orgy of Lights and Sounds: Making the Rounds in Tunica

There’s something to be said about casino advertising. Billboards present happy victors with their wads of cash in each hand. In lieu of past winners, you’ll see instead scantily clad women holding the same cash. “Loosest slots!” the billboards shout. They entice you to come to the smoke-smelling orgy of lights and sounds. I’m not altogether convinced the advertising is necessary.

It’s hard to tell if the people are having a good time. Looks of desperation and despair seem more commonplace than expressions of genuine glee. My parents seem like they’re having a good time. But the overall tone here is less than joyous. A man drags a woman in by the arm playfully but with purpose. A wife offers a despondent husband words of encouragement or chiding. It’s neutral at best.

Penny and nickel slots make the perimeter around the card tables. The residents of card tables seem more determined to win with studied strategies or pure luck, like gambling is more of a skill than I’m led to believe. You hear more cheers and general shouting in the center. Off in a corner sits the very exclusive high limits tables that I would love to sit in but never play. I imagine contestants from the World Series of Poker wearing sunglasses like armor, going to battle with arms of bluffing and observation. I never see anyone enter or exit that room.

This is the third time I’ve gambled at a casino. Logically, my past two experiences would have shunned me away from the practice, but this is a family get-together and I give it another go. I’m met with better luck than before. Slot machines throw free games my way, and with these free games bigger pay outs. In goes five dollars, out comes thirty dollars. Sam sits next to me, eyes wide and mouth open with a slight grin. Her luck hasn’t come yet. The Miller Lite I’m clutching was “complimentary” according to the server. Free or not, it’s there to calm my nerves and kill the stress of winning. I can climb so high but fall quickly with a loose rock.

Later, another set of free games. Bigger pay out. I’ve put in more than five dollars, but I’m still ahead. I go to the automatic cashier and finally notice the pamphlet about treating gambling addiction. It’s like reading the health warnings on packs of cigarettes. The casinos wouldn’t put this literature out if someone didn’t come and say something. I’d like to see the numbers on how many look into this treatment via a pamphlet. One casino even sponsors its own treatment facility.

Sam hits her stride. She ratchets up thirty dollars. Meanwhile, I sink twenty into a few machines. My mind starts calculating the spending in the last twenty four hours. I want to make sure I’m on track to stay ahead. I think I am. I hope I am. After the twenty dollars is officially gone and the machine tells me there are no more credits after the number dropped in forty-cent increments, I stand up. I don’t know what etiquette there is in gambling, but I assume getting up from a machine you’re not playing is one. I also feel freed when I stand, knowing that I won’t open my wallet and grab another five or twenty to feed the machine. I watch as Sam’s stride slows.

Aside from the room, we don’t pay much for this visit to Tunica. We get a complimentary voucher for the Buffet Americana for the supposed long wait we have to get checked into our room. My parents cover our dinner at another buffet at another casino, and my dad slips us each twenty five bucks to feed the slots like it’s a petting zoo. Both buffets reflect of the tone of the casino floor: neutral. But they’re buffets, AYCE, and you’ll need that nutrition if you’re going to sit at a slot all day.