Today I’ll tell you another story from my college days. I was visiting a friend in Cincinnati, Ohio, and he took me to a frat party. Warm beer in red, plastic cups. Low-key lighting slowing down your reflexes. Thick smoke filling up your lungs the moment you enter the house. A drunk girl dancing on a table. Strangers making out as if it’s the end of the world. Small groups of nerds seem totally out of place. Beer pong and flip cup teams warming up for some world-class action. You know the drill.
My friend Tom knew the crowd and was greeted here and there but he made a beeline for stairs. Upstairs, there were three guys waiting for us. On the table in front of them, there was a large roulette outline and stacks of one hundred-dollar bills.
Tom quickly introduced me to his friends whom he called “his secret roulette team.” They gathered once a week to practise playing roulette. In their attempt to beat the house, they were trying out different strategies and devising ones of their own. Turns out the legal gambling age in Ohio and in most states is 21. So, they had a few months before they could play at a real casino.
“I brought you over, Liam” Tom explained, “because I know you’ve played at land-based casinos as well as online casinos.” He paused letting the information sink in.
“That’s true…” I said tentatively. “But how could I possibly help?”
“Oh, we’ll just give it a few spins, have some fun and we’ll see where it takes us. And you get to keep whatever you win.” He added an ambiguous wink to his statement.
We played a few games. At first, I mostly placed outside bets to get a feel of the game and the table and then I decided to go for it and bet on straight numbers. I bet on my birthday. I won. I bet on my favourite numbers, all 8 of them. I won. I bet on my cat’s age and on the number of pets my little sister had managed to kill. You get the idea. I WON every time. Every bloody time! I got cocky, started wagering more and, because I was using a martingale strategy (Here’s martingale strategy explained), my winnings multiplied by the minute. I was at the top of the world and Cloud Nine was so damn comfy…
Then I heard my name from a distance… “Liam!”
Bathing in success, I thought it was Lady Luck calling me.
“Liaaam! Liaaaaaam!!!” It was Tom. “Wake up, man! We smoked a joint and you passed out!” He answered my question before I even had the chance to form it in my mind, let alone ask it.
“But what about the roulette? My winnings?” I mumbled, still in that hazy, half-asleep state.
“What roulette, fool?” Tom laughed, his voice booming in my ears. “You’re at a frat party!”
So, that’s it – a true story of me getting stoned in the good old US of A and dreaming of playing roulette and winning big, not dreaming of hot girls, like regular college students would.