I should probably never gamble

I went to Chuck E. Cheese the other day with a family that I met in Guatemala for their daughters’ birthdays. I spent most of the time following the five-year-old around, letting her choose the games and at times helping her play so she could get more tickets. Also, alerting her when stray tickets were left at a machine. Or on the ground. My scavenging instincts and need to get things for cheap were growing stronger by the minute.

(five-year-old not pictured)

While playing one of the games, she got a coin in a ‘bonus points’ hole. But nothing happened. No flashing lights, no extra tickets. She had no idea. She couldn’t have cared less. I was the one who was disappointed. After the brief flicker of disappointment, however, came the realization that I could get some kind of a deal out of this, the same way I can get a dress for cheaper when the belt is missing. Who needs a belt anyway?

I marched up to Donald, the 16-year-old with the authority and described our dilemma. After trying the game himself and opening it up to look inside, as if that would fix it, Donald told me that some of the machines were old and didn’t work quite right. I was ready to politely assert my rights as a customer.

me: I mean, it’s not really fair to these kids that the machines don’t work.

Donald shrugged and gave me some extra tickets. I wanted to make more of a fuss, but I wasn’t sure how many tickets I should be asking for anyway, so I took it. We continued playing more games, and every so often, one would malfunction. The skee-balls would get stuck. The tickets would run out. The pterodactyl would fail to lay an egg. Each time, I would tell my little friend, who would have been perfectly content to move on and try another game, “Necesitamos buscar Donald.”

me: Donald, the tickets ran out. Donald, we just tried two different machines and they both ate our tokens. Donald, isn’t the pterodactyl supposed to lay an egg? The game doesn’t even make sense without the egg.

Each time, Donald would take his key, fiddle with the machine, then hand me a few extra tickets or tokens. I’m pretty sure Donald thought I was trying to hustle him.

After one encounter with Donald, I was alerted by my five-year-old friend that he had left his keys in the machine. It would have been so easy to open it. I had seen inside, and the ledge of the machine was littered with coins that had fallen into the wrong places. I wouldn’t be stealing them from the actual machine, I would just be taking the loose coins. In fact, Donald probably meant for me to open it. He is on top of his game and would never accidentally leave a key lying around. It’s almost as if he were telling me, I’d like to help you. I’d like to give you back a little bit of what this overpriced, overhyped, nostalgically-charged, children’s- gateway-to-gambling-addictions establishment has taken from you, but I just can’t. However, if you happen to find the key sitting in the machine, I wouldn’t stop you from opening it and evening the score to bring joy to a child on her birthday.

There I was, about to steal from a beloved cartoon mouse while a five-year-old watched, because I felt I had been granted some kind of Divine Right by a 16-year-old with a pocket full of tokens. I took the key, and I walked it back up to Donald. He thanked me. We continued to play games. The kids had a great time. They got a few crappy prizes. All was well.

I fear that when I get older, I might become one of those women who throws cans on the floor in order to get them for cheaper because they’re dented. The capacity for crazy is there.