MerryGoRound of Fortune

Fruit machines are silly things and, for my sins, an expensive habit. The daughter, the wife and I had gone to Le Touquet to await the arrival of the daughter’s boyfriend who had spent his Saturday working “somewhere near Heathrow”. Feeling rather bloated after three days in France our evening meal was a visit to the chip van in Etaples (terrific) and then off to the slot machine casino in the rue Jean.

I actually did rather well to start with. My initial fifty euro bucket of tokens first doubled and then grew a bit more as I meandered from machine to machine. But then the inevitable decline set in as I tried my luck on the more expensive “dynamite” machine and squandered a lot on “Betty Boop” and “Gold and Silver”, both of which had been kind to me on previous occasions. My wallet was emptying in a fairly serious way and with it came the expectation of a frugal Sunday, a visit to a cash machine that had not featured in my personal cash-flow forward projections, and that feeling of guilt that washes over unsuccessful businessmen who know that too much money is going out for an effective nil-return (a subject which I know rather too much about). At least when you spend money on food, drink and travelling there is usually a positive experience. When you lose money gambling, you simply throw notes out of the window.

The boyfriend arrived, the daughter beamed cheerfully and I borrowed a further fifty euros from the wife. The fifty euros went quickly. I watched the wife play her “frogs” machine and I looked at my watch. Time to go. Time to file this bad experience away. Tomorrow will be another day. But then maybe there is just enough left at the bottom of the wallet for one last bucket of tokens. Maybe, just maybe my luck will turn.

I buy the “last bucket of tokens” and find the “MerryGoRound” machine is free. It is a gimmicky machine, which people tend to play for the fun of the carousel feature rather than for serious winnings. Next door to it is the much more popular “Flaming Sevens” machine from which punters seem to take hefty winnings. The wife starts to play the “Flaming Sevens”. My fortunes ebb and flow (mostly ebbing) and the daughter checks out our progress. She’s still grinning like a Cheshire cat, but it has probably more to do with her reunion with the boyfriend than her fortune on the machines.

Then, without warning, I win. No spectacular bell-ringing, musical fanfares, or excitement. Just three “MerryGoRounds” in the same line and a green light glowing on the top of the machine. Jackpot!

Later on, back at home, we talk about the way fruit machines are computer networked. I am probably the worst kind of jackpot winner from the casino’s point-of-view as I don’t scream and jump up-and-down like many French punters. I don’t even “rant” and so there are no great theatricals “pour encourager les autres”. My feelings are more akin to being involved in a near-miss incident where I escape disaster by the skin-of-my-teeth. It’s what life is all about really.