For someone who had never gambled in her life (except for the occasional extra slice of pizza on Poker Night), these lights were particularly mesmerising. And so, one night, after a rather hearty repast and much revelry at Antonio (God bless the Portuguese), while the rest of our party traipsed away to their respective beds, a few friends and I decided to venture into one of the casinos. We hopped off the bus feeling rather adventurous and tried to look less like wide-eyed ingénues and more like women-of-the-glittery-world. “Casino Lisboa or Grand Lisboa?” “Should we flip for it?” giggled one of my comrades-in-fur, evidently having enjoyed her bubbly a tad more than was judicious.
We eventually decided upon Casino Lisboa by the simple process of hastily following the male member of our merry little band, who, not in the mood for the antics of a trio of giggly women, just rolled his eyes and walked through the nearest set of gilt and glass-edged doors.
I was fairly confident that watching reruns of ‘The One in Vegas’ episode of Friends had prepared me for what I was about to see. It certainly had; the same way swimming in a kiddie pool prepares you for a dunk in the middle of the ocean.
The casino was vast. I could make out a couple of levels above the ground floor and each floor appeared divided into separate gaming sections. We decided to part ways and meet at the exit at the stroke of midnight lest one of us unwittingly turned into a pumpkin in that hall full of perfume, hairspray and the faintly detectable stench of nervous sweat.
My companion, whose husband had kissed her goodbye at the airport with a hundred-dollar bill and instructions to spend it all in a casino, and I decided to do the rounds first. Baccarat seemed to be the most popular game, though the roulette and blackjack tables had their share of loyal patrons as well.
As we waited for the slot machines to free up, my friend turned my attention to the crowd. When I had entered, I had been blinded by the cheerleader effect (a cognitive bias which causes people to think individuals are more attractive when they are in a group) and now I was able to observe more closely.
There were the usual suspects, of course, tuxedoed men with powdered and pretty women hanging off their arm, the suits, who looked like they had put in a hard day of work and would rather be in bed than here, potbellied older men sneaking glances at unbelievably attractive women (who I later discovered were the famous ladyboys), and youthful yuppies who looked like they should be playing video games in their parents’ basement with a can of soda than betting on a third hand in a game of chance that would cause them to lose their allowance for the next five weeks.
There were also very regular-looking, unglamorous women intensely concentrating on their game of baccarat. And there were a sprinkling of tourists – easily identifiable because we were the only ones who seemed animated. In fact, everyone engrossed in a game was blank-faced. Zombiefied. Once I became aware of that, it was rather unnerving.
I decided to take a couple of photos purely to capture these expressionless faces but no sooner had I raised my camera than a bow-tied young man suddenly appeared next to me and told me photography was forbidden. My companion dragged me away, apologising profusely on my behalf, and managed to find us an empty slot machine. We grinned triumphantly but it was short-lived once we realised we did not have a clue how to play.
Undeterred, my friend turned to our neighbour and chirpily asked him to explain. The poor man looked utterly terrified at being addressed thusly and strangled out a few sentences in halting English. He did not seem to be having much luck himself, though. We managed to follow the first of his instructions and got some coupons and small change, after which we persuaded the young Macanese to play a couple of games on our machine so we could figure out what to do.
While my companion proceeded to lose 15 dollars, enthusiastically aided and abetted by me, our gallant helper slinked away out of sight, probably worried about further interrogations that night.
My companion, who had by now decided she’d rather save the rest of her money for shopping, and I made another round, this time of the upper floors – where we saw more bling, smarter men, shorter skirts, and haughtier dealers. We exchanged impressed looks. The good life, we sighed, as we walked back downstairs.
As we strolled to our lodgings, I turned for a final glimpse of Macau’s glittering casinos and caught sight of a beautiful ladyboy paying court to our young gallant of earlier that night. Finally, Lady Luck had smiled on him that evening!
