I stood at the ATM machine, frantically sliding card after card into its slot, punching in each PIN, a growing panic in my belly.
Declined.
Ears ringing with the electronic cacophony of the casino, I dug through my bag. Another credit card! Maybe it had some cash advance left before the limit!
Declined.
Each rejection was a yank on my heart, ripping away hope. Of course, I already knew the cards were tapped out, but I
had
to try. People came and stood behind me, only to give up and move to another line. I felt their disgust, their commiseration. They knew. Many had been there themselves.
"The poor girl," whispered woman. I ignored her, putting my last card into the slot.
Declined.
A gambling addict, that's what I was. My belly screamed for more play, but the money was totally gone at last. In the months my addiction had grown, I'd gambled it all away. My wallet was empty, my savings gone, my checking account exhausted, credit maxed out, rent money spent. I'd be lucky if I had gas to get home. But I had to keep playing. The craving was as real and as powerful as any junky's need.
Finally, I gave up on the plastic in my bag and walked away from the machine. Standing between clamoring slots and crowded tables, I started shaking. I saw people turn to look at me as they went by, and most were not the usual looks I got from men, sizing me up as a woman. Many of these were looks of pity l. I tried to think. My fingers played with a strand of my long sandy hair as they often did when I was anxious. My mind raced.
"Maybe they'll take a check," I thought, knowing deep down it was very unlikely. "If it takes a couple days to go through, my paycheck will cover it." Clinging to that thin hope I hurried to the cage and got in the shortest line.
The plump middle-aged woman behind the glass partition smiled at me as I stepped up.
"Can I cash a personal check here?" I asked, trying to not look nervous.
"Sorry hon, we don't cash checks anymore. We just have the machines. If you've reached your cash withdrawal limit the machines can do a debit purchase for cash."
I slumped, felt my heart approaching a pit of despair.
"Thanks" I said quietly and turned to go.
"Wait hon. Let me see..."
The heavy set cashier pursed her lips and looked me over, sizing me up. What she saw didn't exactly promote trust: a slim girl, not yet 30, wearing a wrinkled, over-sized t-shirt that almost hid my smallish breasts, jeans once bought to show off the firm, high curve of my ass but that now could use a wash, carrying the bag I had retrieved from my car trunk, a bag that said "student" more than "accessory," a pretty face bare of makeup, mussed hair, eyes a little too desperate. It was obvious I was a hardcore gambler who had left home in a hurry to play, not some girl on a day out with friends. After a good look, she nodded slowly.
"If you want to ask for a special arrangement," she added quietly, then paused, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward a little, "I could send you back to see the manager." She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and a questioning tilt of her head.
My heart rose at the words, "Is that possible?"
She looked at me with a smile that could have been a smirk "That's between you and him, sugar. It does happen sometimes, if you want to try."
"Yes please!" My heart stepped back from the pit.
Nodding, she picked up a walky-talky from the counter. "Special arrangement at window five" The woman said into it, and turned back to me.
"Ok sugar, stand aside and security will be here to take you to the manager in a minute."
I stood aside and she helped the woman behind me in line. I heard a giggle as they conducted their transaction. This was great! If only the manager would approve a check! If he offered casino credit I knew I'd take it, even though more debt was the last thing I needed.
Soon a large man in a suit arrived and led me away from the cages to a door labeled "Staff Only." My guide punched in a key-code and the door opened with a buzz. I followed him through.
The man took me down a short hallway past closed doors. My hands were sweating a little and I was biting my lip. We stopped at the end of the hall. Above the door was a sign that said "Manager." The large man knocked.
"Send her in," said a cheerful male voice from beyond the door.
"Go on in darlin," my guide said in a soft reassuring tone, smiling. " I'm sure he'll help you," Then turned and walked away as I opened the door.
Stepping in I saw a big man rising from behind a grand desk. The guy smiled at me confidently, dimpling his plump cheeks as he looked me over. The expensive suit couldn't hide the man's thick body or developing belly, though he was obviously well-muscled. He came around the desk to greet me.
"Hi, I'm the manager, Paul."
