Tag Archives: gambling

Non-fiction

Back in Goleta

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I returned to Goleta last night after two nights in Avila Beach and can say that I’m happy to be away from that mean town. The weather is hotter here. I’m staying at the same hotel where I stayed on the first night.

It’s an awkward hotel room, especially the shower. The showerhead is one of those detachable ones that hangs in the middle of the stall. And it faces the wall. I can’t just stand there and let the hot water hit me. I have to hold the showerhead in one hand and wash myself with the other hand. It’s just as dysfunctional as the shower when I stayed on the first night, which was missing a door, but it’s something that I’ll remember in years to come.

But anyway, I kept eating yesterday. My parents and I ate lunch at a restaurant inside a hotel in Los Olivos, which is a small town off the 101 mostly for wine tasting, but they still have places to eat. All three of us ate flatbreads. Our waiter was a big man with mutton chops. He suggested the specials. Waiters always speak fast when they tell us what the specials are. I can never catch on to what they’re saying. But I did hear the word “artichoke.” My father did, too, so we ordered the artichoke as an appetizer. It was a plate full of small artichoke hearts with some sort of white cheese sprinkled on top of it, with a yellow sauce that I can only describe as tangy–if that’s the right word, but it’s hard to tell.

We then ordered our flatbreads. My mother ordered the Margherita flatbread, which needs no explanation. We all know what a Margherita pizza is: salt, olive oil, mozzarella, tomato sauce. My father ordered the mushroom truffle flatbread. And I ordered something with garlic, mushrooms, pine nuts, tomato sauce, and ricotta cheese. There was no hint of garlic, even though it said garlic on the menu. It didn’t taste as good as their flatbreads, but they still gave me what they couldn’t finish, so I ate it later in the hotel room in Goleta. The flatbreads tasted better cold than they did hot. I wasn’t expecting that.

After lunch, we drove to Chumash and gambled at the Chumash Casino. It’s a fair casino, unlike the casinos in Coachella Valley, where the machines hardly ever hit. At this one, I broke even after playing a machine with the devil involved in it. When the devil shows up in the middle slot, a bunch of free games shows up, and the devil unlocks more money, including bonuses such as the mini bonus, the minor bonus, the major bonus, and the maxi bonus. The major bonus would’ve won me a hundred dollars, while the maxi bonus would’ve won me over a thousand dollars. But that never showed up. I went there with a hundred dollars to gamble with and left with the same amount. It was as if I never even played the slots.

And then I said goodbye to my parents. They’re staying for the rest of the week in Avila (God help them), and I’m driving back to the heat in Palm Springs this afternoon. It was a trip that was frustrating at times, but I got through it.

Fiction

A Day at the Races.

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This past week was the Kentucky Derby. I watched it with my parents in my apartment, having not watched it in years. It’s an interesting extravagance. People from all over the world dress in flamboyant costumes from years bygone and attend the Derby to get drunk.

It’s not about the race. The race takes about two minutes, and then it’s over. People either win or lose thousands of dollars over the horses and stay and party, I assume. My parents and I watched it to the finish, and it was a photo finish. I already forgot the name of the horse that won, but it didn’t have the best odds to win. And then we went to dinner.

My friends and I used to go to Hollywood Park before it became SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles. We would bet on the horses and usually walk away with money as opposed to losing money. We would drink beers, eat hot dogs, read the racing forms, and bullshit in the stands, spending an afternoon there on a clear Saturday—never when it rained, of course.

I can’t remember a time when I won big. I think the most was about sixty dollars. Nothing to write home about. But it was a lot of fun, sitting with my friends and betting on those horses, win or lose. It was an experience of its own. There was suspense after placing our bets and watching the horses enter the gates. We would wait a few seconds, and then they were off. The crowd began cheering. We began cheering. The horses galloped around and around the track until they met the finish line. I remember the first time I went to Hollywood Park. I won my first race ever. It was a trifecta for thirty-seven dollars. I thought, This is easy. I went on to lose for the rest of the afternoon.

That was well over a decade ago. I remember going there on my thirtieth birthday, depressed to be thirty.

“I’m officially old,” I told my friend.

And he said things are only going to change, and not for the better.

I thanked him for the vote of confidence.

We ate at a Russian restaurant that night in West Hollywood. I forget what I ate, but I remember all of us were sunburnt from sitting outside all day.

We would go to the races a few days out of the year before everyone moved away. Two friends moved to the east coast. I was left with two other good friends. And then one of them moved to the south. I burned bridges with the last one. The next thing I knew, I didn’t have anyone left in Los Angeles.

I never went to the track alone. That smelled like too much desperation. Nor have I ever gone to the casino alone. Too risky. I needed someone to tell me when to stop because I would’ve kept going until there was nothing left.

One of those friends was the last to admit he had a gambling problem. He would drive down to Commerce Casino by himself, about an hour’s drive outside of Los Angeles. No one stopped him. He would usually lose big—in the thousands. At least he had a good-paying job.

I miss Hollywood Park like I miss most things from my past. It seems that the older I get, the more things I lose.