On the very next spin, a loud ‘BRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG’ rings out. The message, ‘Six free games’, appears on the screen. She hits ‘SPIN’, and the reels gallop along automatically. When the free games finish, the credit counter reads $345.60. A looped, computerised rendition of Johann Strauss’s celebratory Radetzky March plays, and a fountain of gold coins spurts out from the bottom of the screen, each coin branded with the word ‘WIN’. The blank expression on her face doesn’t change as she presses ‘COLLECT’ and slips the barcoded receipt spat out by the machine into her purse. She swivels on her chair as if about to leave. But when she’s almost on her feet, she swivels back to face the machine, feeds it another $20, and continues gambling.
I roam the floor again. As I do, an excited female voice comes through the speakers. It calls out a name and then a membership number. No gamblers near me seem to even hear it; they remain focused on their machines. I ask one of the staff members what the announcement is about. ‘So we’re running a promotion,’ the besuited man says. ‘All you have to do is put your membership card into the machine, and the more you play, the more points you get, and the more chances you have of going in the draw to win.’ The prize is a cruise for two. Fifty trips are being given away.
I take a seat at another machine towards the middle of the floor. Beside me is a middle-aged woman betting $2.50 a spin on a Five Dragons game. She whispers mantras to herself, and winces when a winning symbol is just off. Sometimes, in between spins, she rubs the mouth of the cartoonish dragon that looks down on her from the top screen in the vain hope of attracting luck. Next to her, another woman rests her heavy head in her right hand while slapping the buttons of a Five Koi machine with her left. She churns through $100 in just a few minutes. When she wins, she hits the button even more frantically, trying to hurry along the machine’s celebration so she can continue playing. Across the aisle, a skinny young man plays a Buffalo machine, leaning so far forward that it looks as if he is slowly being sucked into the screen, and an elderly couple sip chocolate milkshakes in silence as they bet ten cents a spin on a More Chilli machine.
When she wins, she hits the button even more frantically, trying to hurry along the machine’s celebration so she can continue playing.
In my periphery, I sense eyes on me. I turn to my right and see a besuited, managerial-looking man staring directly at me, biting the arm of his glasses. His lips are pursed, his eyes cold. I turn away, slowly close my notebook, and pretend to play the machine I’m sitting at.
Not a minute later, the man is standing over me.
‘You’ve got me curious,’ he says with raised eyebrows, looking down at the notebook on my lap. ‘What exactly are you doing?’
‘Uhhhh,’ I mumble. ‘Writing.’
Threateningly, he says, ‘Well, you’d better not be describing any of my customers.’
Trying to throw him off, I say quickly, ‘No, no. I’m also playing. I’m just taking a break.’
‘Oh, right.’ The man’s tone becomes friendlier. ‘Well, that’s okay. But if you’re not playing, then you’ve got to go downstairs or leave.’
‘Sure. No worries, Tom,’ I say, noticing his name badge.
With that he departs, casting a glance over his shoulder as he saunters away.
I make my way to the ‘outdoor’ smoking terrace, connected to the main gambling area by a revolving glass door. It is entirely enclosed with only air conditioning and one grated wall acting as ventilation. Through the wall I hear the lonely call — an ascending, high-pitched ‘coo-eee’ — of an Eastern Koel bird outside calling amid the approaching night.
Nearly all of the 160-or-so poker machines in the ‘outdoor’ terrace are occupied. The people gambling have cigarettes dangling out the sides of their mouths or wedged between their fingers. Some do not even bother using the ashtrays provided, instead flicking the ash on the carpet.
At one of the machines, a father holds a cigarette and gambles with one hand, while holding with his other the hand of his disabled adult son, who sits in a wheelchair just beside him. Two women walk into the terrace, and I hear one of them exclaim, pointing to a row of machines against a far wall, ‘The jackpot’s 20,000 on those ones. Mustn’t have paid out for a while.’ Two young tattooed men enter moments later. One, full of confidence, says to the other, ‘The way I play, mate, you can win ten grand! Bet small, small, small, then raise it big.’
‘The way I play, mate, you can win ten grand! Bet small, small, small, then raise it big.’
I sit at a machine opposite an elderly man betting 20 cents a spin. He is calm, gently tapping the buttons as he takes long draws of a cigarette. A tough-looking young man dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt paces up to the machine beside him. There are beads of sweat on his forehead. He frantically puffs a cigarette. Without sitting down, he feeds the machine $50, and immediately raises the bet to $10. He slaps the buttons hard. After five spins, his credit is at zero. Another $50 note disappears into the machine. It lasts as long as the first.
‘Fuuuuuuucckk,’ the man says through clenched teeth, startling the old man. He paces away to play another machine.
Moments later, Tom appears in the terrace. He’s speaking on a mobile phone, looking hawkishly around like a secret service agent. He spots me. I fumble with the buttons of my machine, but know from his stern look that my acting is unconvincing. He stares and moves the phone away from his ear, then exits the terrace. He returns not a minute later, accompanied by a muscular security guard. They walk quickly towards me.
‘Alright,’ Tom says firmly. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to go downstairs. You’re not playing. You can’t just sit down, watching people play. If you want to do any of this, you’ll have to contact management and get approval from marketing before you do your research up here. But you’re quite welcome to sit downstairs. You can write all night down there.’
‘What’s the difference?’ I ask.
Tom responds hastily. ‘People get paranoid. And it’s just the by-laws. They don’t allow people just to sit around.’
Given the looming presence of the security guard, whose crossed arms are almost as thick as my thighs, I decide it’s probably best to not protest anymore. I exit the terrace and walk back through the main area of poker machines towards the escalator. Tom and the security guard trail me until I reach it. When I’m halfway down, I turn and see them standing at the top, both still staring at me.
As I head towards the revolving glass door to leave the club, the young lady at the service counter who greeted me earlier smiles, and says, ‘Have a lovely night, sir.’
