People love gambling but hate taxes. Which is odd, because both do exactly the same thing: take your money.
Frankly, I prefer taxes. At least with taxes, your lost lucre often goes to good use: building roads, funding schools, and such, rather than gilding a toilet in some casino owner’s yacht.
Then again, I am not a gambler, and nothing is more ridiculous than passion you don’t share.
Despite lack of interest in gambling, personally, I closely followed the opening of Bally’s temporary casino at the Medinah Temple, having tracked the decades-long chase after the will-o-the-wisp of a Chicago gambling den. Now that one’s actually open, a visit seemed in order.
Stepping into the Medinah Temple had none of the existential sorrow of Vegas casinos. I’d pondered how much to gamble and, more importantly, whether I could expense my losses. While I have in the past stuck the newspaper with a variety of vices in the name of research, from a $200 bottle of champagne at the Ritz-Carlton bar, to table dances and tips to strippers at Thee Doll House on Kingsbury, something told me that Chicago Public Media might look askance at financing my casino spree. So I figured: eat my losses. Besides, a gambler should never bet anything he isn’t prepared to lose. I initially thought: $100 but then dialed it back to $50. Frugal.
That plan lasted until I walked in the door. When I told the security guard this was my first visit, he directed me to a desk where I was issued a card — a Bally’s Rewards card, with “Pro” emblazoned in the corner. “Pro?” That made me smile. If I’m a pro, I’d hate to see what an amateur looks like.
A quick glance at the cover of the brochure I was given revealed the truth. Pro is the lowest rung. The others: Star, Superstar and Legend. “LEVEL UP YOUR LOYALTY” it declares. Perks include free check cashing to cover your losses. I’m surprised there isn’t access to a VIP pawn shop.
The card also came with a $10 credit. I headed to the slot machines. This $10 grubstake was unexpected. I’d point out the echo of drug dealers — your first hit is free — but don’t traffic in the obvious.
The place wasn’t empty — there were people here and there. But not what I could call hopping. I parked myself in front of an Ultra Rush Gold machine and plugged in my card. At that point I got a phone call, and so my attention was distracted. But my $10 evaporated in what seemed like 30 seconds. So as I talked, I removed a $5 — I carry a little cash in my wallet, to give to indigents — slid that in, and received a few more taps, none of which unlocked the $10,204.81 that could be mine if it were my lucky day.
Time to get chips and play. I went upstairs, did a quick survey. A long gaming table, and several poker tables. Maybe a dozen people on the whole floor. Most tables were $15 or even $50 a chip, but one was $5 a chip, which seemed more my speed. I went over to the cashier. To my surprise, they wouldn’t sell chips using a credit card, but directed me to an ATM charging $7 to give you your money. I balked at that, and found a ten-spot in my wallet.
I went to the $5 chip table, but the dealer nicely explained that the way the game, Mississippi Mud, works, you repeatedly up your bid and might need as much as $50 a hand.
Ah. Well, I’m a big believer that, between lotteries and casinos, the media shills too much for gambling as it is, and is too quiet about the glories of not gambling. Around the corner from Bally’s is L.A. Burdick Chocolates. There, I bet $8 they’d make an excellent cup of hot chocolate, and won big. Then I put down $15 on two dark chocolate mice and a pair of Earl Grey flavored chocolates, plus a $10 side bet on a chocolate bar for my mother — I always bring her chocolate. Having dropped $35, including a $2 tip on the cocoa, I felt no regret, except maybe that I should have spent more. I doubt that happens much at Bally’s. Besides, I said I’d eat my losses, and I did.
