The bags were stowed in the room, and we hit the floor. It’s Saturday afternoon, around 3ish, and my gambling itch must be scratched. The Paris hotel has a nice casino floor – things are fairly well laid out. It’s an outdoor theme, but classier than the NYNY floor. I stroll down the blackjack tables. Most are still at $10, although there are some $5 tables. But with all the practice, and book reading I almost feel over prepared for blackjack. I want something that doesn’t feel so methodical, so calculated. Something I can take a risk on, and if I lose, won’t invalidate all my practice. Something I can only *really* play in Vegas.

The craps pit has 4-6 tables, with enough room to expand to eight if they feel like it. Apparently the french aren’t too much into the dice. There’s a $10 table with some action, but I’m not ready for those stakes yet. I round a corner in the pit and find a pretty sight. Four dealers are standing around an empty craps table, and there’s a red five dollar minimum sign hanging down in the table. I’m running with Marc and Tedd and maybe a few others. Everyone’s just kind of mulling about, not ready to be the first to gamble. The first to risk. I can already feel the adrenaline rushing through my body, and the cash I took out of the safe in the hotel room is getting heavy in my pocket.

This is it. I walk over and ask the dealer if they’re working. He doesn’t understand what I’m asking, and makes me repeat it. I’m cautious because sometimes they’ll be closing a table, or doing other work that means there are dealers but no action. That’s not the case here. The dealer seems a bit detatched, as do most dealers in Vegas. (In future retrospect, I wonder why that is. I can understand where the monotony of the same thing hundreds if not thousands of times a shift gets annoying, or if there’s some other karma-linked sadness to the dealers who ferret away so many people’s money. Too many of them don’t seem excited about the players wins, or about the player in general, and I feel that hurts the vegas atmosphere.)

You can do this. It’s an empty table. You versus the dice. You making your own destiny. I slap five crisp twenty dollar bills down on the table, and flick the guy my brand new players club card. Awww yeah, the highroller’s in to-night! (Part of me is thinking “shoe money to-night,” but the other half of me thinks that’s retarded, even though I’m really digging the TV show Sports Night.)

“Cashing one hundred,” the bookman calls. I can’t help the sides of my lips from curling up. So much waiting, anguishing anticipation for this trip. I’m finally here. I’m finally playing. By God’s good graces, a cocktail waitress comes by before I’ve even thrown my first roll. What luck – it’s a sign!

“Jim and Coke,” I tell her. She looks at me and asks, “Jim Beam?” Is there any other Jim? “Yes, Beam. Thanks.” She should bring me black label for being dumb about it. The stack of red chips handed to me feels nice in my hands, almost more than I can comfortably carry. I put almost all of it into the trough in front of me, and roll the rest around in my fingers. If you don’t know the feeling of heavy chips in your hands, you have to go to Vegas.

$100 is more than I usually cash in, but I *know* things are going to work out, and I’m not afraid to risk it. By the budget, I shouldn’t be spending more than that a day gambling, and not much more than that daily including food. But this is *my* table, and I’m in charge, and I’m not worried.

The stickman offered me five dice, and I took two that summed eleven. I flicked a red chip on the pass line and tossed the dice. The next couple of rolls are a standard recipe for craps. I set a point, laid some odds, played the come to load a few other numbers, with odds. A seven would be bad, losing all of my bets, but 2-3 numbers could make me win and win big. My play has attracted the attention of a small, asian women who joins up at the other end of the table. Before I have too many bets on the table, I do seven out, and she gets the dice. My cash count is a little down, but I had some wins so I’m still okay. She selects the dice and we start the process all over again. Ah, and the drink lady is back with my Beam. I give her one of the dollar chips I won at odds on rolling a six. The cold, cocktail glass in my hand only fuels my excitement. This is great. I try to nudge Marc or Tony into playing, but so far I’m only getting an audience of supporters, not anyone to play with me.

A unknown, female voice addresses me from behind. “Are the tables lucky?” I look over to see a tall girl with dark short hair. I chuckle and say I just started playing, but beckon her to stand next to me. She’s taller than I am, which almost always sets me on the defensive, but I see something in her eyes. There’s nothing knockout about her appearance, indeed she’s very plain. But she’s looking for the game, just as I am, and she’s making idle talk with me. I instinctively shuffle the chips in my hand, and sip my Beam while she cashes in. I don’t even notice doing some of this, like a subconscious attempt to show off my bling. She plays just to my left. Aw yeah, They card her to play, which is interesting because she looks over 21 to me. Maybe that’s a ploy the dealers do to get the 411 on girls players, because I’ve seen that happen before. Or maybe these dealers can’t tell the ages of young women. I know my beard helps me look a little older, and maybe that’s why they didn’t card me. I noticed from a glance at her ID she’s from Wisconsin. A wholesome midwestern girl, talking to me, who likes craps. Neat. I’m drinking, I’m gambling, I’m socializing. I have my friends around me. This is a great trip.

The action on the table picks up. I guess that three-four people is critical mass for craps, because the other side of the table gets more players. Tony steps up into the play, cashing less than me, but his $60 investment is more chips than I currently have. My play is consistent, but I’m not getting the rolls, and I’m down. Down, but not out.

[ Small edits 6/29/04 ]