Consider Sin City
I don't know what to think of Las Vegas.
I lost forty dollars on the slots. I could have stopped at one point after winning back most of it, but chose to keep going. Before the trip started I'd decided on my "gambling budget," but had not expected that forty dollars would get me through five days. My mom said that forty dollars is nothing, that many people lose that in the first half hour. Ryan said I shouldn't feel guilty, that I'd had fun and was just paying for a few hours of entertainment.
So why did I feel so terrible, so dirty, so ashamed? I didn't lose my savings, or pawn my jewelry, or take out a second mortgage on the house. I didn't do anything illegal. All I did was play a game. How is it so different from an arcade? At least on the slots there was a chance I'd win it back.
But oh man, the shame. I wanted to throw up, or curl up in a ball. I felt as if I'd set the money on fire, just to watch it burn. Maybe it comes from knowing exactly what forty dollars is worth - four hours of hard labor, sweat and aching muscles. Every time I opened a paycheck last year, I felt a warm satisfaction, proud to know that I'd earned it. My bank account is considerably lighter now, after our trip to Sin City. The money I gambled is only a part of it - dress clothes and overpriced food and drinks were the greater part of what I spent.
I enjoyed the Consumer Electronics Showcase (which is the real reason we went). I loved the Bellagio fountains. Ryan and I had a magical night when we dressed up to see "O". And I enjoyed visiting my relatives in Henderson. But Vegas? For just a little while, I bought into the system that keeps Sin City alive, and it sickened me.
Maybe someday I'll go back, and if so I'll probably gamble. Because that's what you do in Las Vegas. It's not a magical city, not an adventure, not a cultural experience. Just a playground for the rich and the wannabe rich, a system designed to separate adults from their money.
I lost forty dollars on the slots. I could have stopped at one point after winning back most of it, but chose to keep going. Before the trip started I'd decided on my "gambling budget," but had not expected that forty dollars would get me through five days. My mom said that forty dollars is nothing, that many people lose that in the first half hour. Ryan said I shouldn't feel guilty, that I'd had fun and was just paying for a few hours of entertainment.
So why did I feel so terrible, so dirty, so ashamed? I didn't lose my savings, or pawn my jewelry, or take out a second mortgage on the house. I didn't do anything illegal. All I did was play a game. How is it so different from an arcade? At least on the slots there was a chance I'd win it back.
But oh man, the shame. I wanted to throw up, or curl up in a ball. I felt as if I'd set the money on fire, just to watch it burn. Maybe it comes from knowing exactly what forty dollars is worth - four hours of hard labor, sweat and aching muscles. Every time I opened a paycheck last year, I felt a warm satisfaction, proud to know that I'd earned it. My bank account is considerably lighter now, after our trip to Sin City. The money I gambled is only a part of it - dress clothes and overpriced food and drinks were the greater part of what I spent.
I enjoyed the Consumer Electronics Showcase (which is the real reason we went). I loved the Bellagio fountains. Ryan and I had a magical night when we dressed up to see "O". And I enjoyed visiting my relatives in Henderson. But Vegas? For just a little while, I bought into the system that keeps Sin City alive, and it sickened me.
Maybe someday I'll go back, and if so I'll probably gamble. Because that's what you do in Las Vegas. It's not a magical city, not an adventure, not a cultural experience. Just a playground for the rich and the wannabe rich, a system designed to separate adults from their money.