Anyone who lives in Hong Kong and has means has made the annual, bi-annual—or as in the case of my friend Sang—bi-weekly trip to Macau to gamble, eat Portuguese food, and wonder why their colleagues are getting “foot” massages at 3am. Since you’re probably reading this somewhere you’ve paid $35 for a $6 coffee, I’ll assume you have means and know what I’m saying.
Last weekend I went to Macau 2 see 2manydjs and 2 lose 2muchmoney. Both of these were accomplished exceedingly well. I’ve done the trip enough so I feel like a pro now: hit up the 7pm Cotai, watch that stupid “Man vs. Beast” video, breeze through immigration, taxi to the Venetian, commence drinking and gambling immediately. This trip, I budgeted eight minutes for bathroom breaks and hotel check-in, but did it in seven, leaving one minute to avoid eye contact with prostitutes. So, I get to the Venetian craps table. Follow the ritual: say “hi,” order a G&T, start rolling. Buy the ten and the four, hit the five (“fever!”) a few times. Hit a few sixes. Press the six. Roll. Doing well. Press it. The crowd’s warming up. Press. Now we’re cheering! We’re getting into it. More gin and tonics. Feeling great. Press it. Hard tens. Hard eights. People are chanting “win! win!” when I’m rolling. I can’t lose! I’m the champ. I’m a god. Press the nine. Press it again.
(OK, timeout. At this point you’re probably a) nodding, because you’re a gambler and you‘ve seen this happen or b) have no idea WTF I’m talking about and think “press it” is either a basketball strategy or an uncomfortable sex move. Just understand that you bet on some numbers and try to roll them and NOT roll a seven. You want anything BUT a seven. You shouldn’t even say the word “seven.” You shouldn’t play if you have a seven-year old kid. If you saw the Brad Pitt movie “Se7en” on Now TV, don’t come to the table. If you’re celebrating your 77th birthday, congratulations for being alive, but please, please go away).
So anyway, I continue on the hot streak. Crowd loves it. At one point I mis-roll, a die bounces off the table and hits this guy in the chest, and he just keeps laughing because he’s winning money. I love everyone at this point. I love Macau.
Then, disaster. This group of drunk white guys shows up. Uh-oh. We all have our superstitions and mine is stay away from white guys. in a casino I’m like a 1970s black panther member. Stay away from me honkeys. You know how this goes. I should have stopped there but I didn’t. I couldn’t. This is probably why people say that gambling is an addiction and I’m two years away from offering “services” in Chungking mansions for Mark 6 tickets. Anyway, I roll boxcar, double-six. Observing me, one of the white guys turns to his friend and says: “dude, I really hope he doesn’t roll a seven.”
I won’t tell you exactly what happened next but the outcome was that I lost a lot of money and the security guard gave me the if-you-want-to-stab-this-guy-in-the-neck-I-will-have-to-arrest-you-but-I-understand-and-empathize-with-you face. The crowd gives me a pity clap and I sulk away. Next stop: blackjack tables. COMING NEXT WEEK: MACAU PART 2.