Writing Samples

Short Stories by Jon Raasch


Casino Morning

Gone are the overwhelming noises of thousands of slot machines, and the music is loud and eerie. "Get on the beat. Get up and take some action" It really is a ghost town at ten in the morning. You see a few of the boutique owners spraying windex on their display cases, and housekeepers cleaning up after the last nights drunks. A few of them are still around, half asleep, and about to fall off their chairs if their players club card wasn't inextricably attached from their shirt to the slot machine with a coiled telephone cord. Guests are checking in, and the casino still holds the odd show, just one girl usually dancing on a small stage singing some Tina Turner song. There is something serene about coming to the casinos at this early hour, but there is also something quite ugly. Without the distraction of countless thousands of tourists having the time of their life, the casino is revealed for what it really is. It is a meticulously crafted machine to separate you from your money. The myth of Vegas is that you can come here and get something for nothing. Of course everybody understands that you're not expected to win, but nobody seems to understand how sure it is that the casino will win. The casino doesn't give out comps because it likes you. It gives out comps in a calculated effort to extract more money, more money even than the comps themselves cost. So you don't get something for nothing. You think you're getting a free drink, but the coctail waitress is taking an awful long time, and you bettter be playing when she gets back, so you pony up another twenty into the mouth of the insatiable slot machine. And its so great that they're giving you big rooms for thirty dollars a night, but the casino determined that just walking to your room in the morning and at night more than made up for the room discount.

They're just opening the buffet, as I scuff my feet on the carpet and trip a bit. I hate these square-toed shoes, I don't have enough control over my feet even without them. I worry that my shirt is tucked in too well, that maybe my hair is too long.

2006