Short Straws

The Gift Monterrico, Guatemala Día 43

The key to any successful business is location, location, location. You really didn’t need me to tell you this but I’m stuck for an opening lead.

As sure as there are unfinished homework assignments, skinned knees and lunchtime bullying, the next guarantee to public schooling is the proximity of a variety store. The convenience of these convenience stores serves as nothing more than a venue to provide a sugar rush for awaiting youngsters needing their next fix.

Given the amount of chemical-laden snacks and empty calories contained in these well-displayed and colourfully packaged sodas, chocolates and chips, these tiendas are little more than legalized drug pushers. In fairness, with the quantity of stores back home and the crap that’s marketed there, the only difference between North and Central America is the higher percentage of mom and pop outlets located in this part of the world.

Cigarettes, being another staple of these convenience stores, don’t yet have a foothold in Guatemala. (Give the tobacco lobby time, this is a developing country.) I haven’t inquired, nor do I care to, but I believe cost is why nicotine hasn’t caught on. That, and the cool, crisp taste of inhaling smoke in a country where temperatures don’t dip below 20°C, ever, shouldn’t rank high on the list of methods to escape the heat.

It’s during an afternoon stroll when I’ve stumbled across one of these stores as the kids are leaving school for the day (classes are between 8 a.m. and 1 p.m.). What has attracted me here is the sale of one of those chemical-laden, empty caloric sugary treats. For a quetzal I can beat the 30°C with a popsicle.

Already in a jovial mood, I could add ‘generous’ to the list of temporary positive traits especially in light of my discovery of this frozen bargain. So I buy a round for the house, comprising of me and a 10-year-old lad. Big sport I am.

Standing at the counter, looking haggard and scrawny with food stains on the shirt, socks rolled down and skinned knees (him, not me, but it’s close; I’m not wearing socks) I figure my newfound friend can use a break. Apparently there aren’t any taboos in this country about accepting candy from a stranger.

While I’m enjoying the strawberry flavour, the kid’s jumpy, itching to do something because his concentration isn’t on the popsicle at all. No sooner has he finished his snack than his attention is diverted to the machine in the corner that, until he’s plugged in the electrical cord, had been inconspicuous.

Once the bells ring and lights flash, he’s calmed down. Maybe there’s a local ordinance preventing this machine from remaining on during school hours. Once freed from their daily grind, children can resume the pleasurable diversions of a video lottery terminal.

Complete with most of the characters is this Pakeman VLT. Yes, I think it is called ‘Pokémon’ yet why let correct spelling plus licensing fees (but more probably trademark infringements) stop some knock-off company from making a buck or two off a kid’s allowance?

This is gambling under the guise of a toy. Cute. Hook ’em while they’re young.

There is no company name or address to lodge a complaint should the machine actually be rigged. Somehow, in overlooking international property rights, the game wasn’t sanctioned by a state gaming commission.

Calmly pulling out his billfold (okay, this is a stretch, the money is tucked in his rolled down socks), I’d be lying if I say he plunks a Q20 on the store’s counter for change. It’s a Q50 bill.

(While this may be only $8, it’s already been established this type of money would hire a private security guard, with a machine gun, in Central America for the day.)

Jamming four coins in at a time and choosing the same symbols on each turn, this amounts to nickel slots. If this had been Atlantic City or Deadwood, South Dakota, nobody would think anything of this pastime. Except this is a fifth grader who’s contracted an addictive habit and there is no self-help telephone number on the machine for when it’s no longer a game.

With all of the numbers, whistles and fast motion, I can’t keep pace. Okay, the concept is easy. Pick the symbol or fruit and if the lights stop flashing on the selected choice(s), you win. But I’m too caught up in the moment to recognize the simplicity.

Perhaps like others who’ve caught the gambling bug, this pre-teen slots player has initially won and the thrill of receiving the coins drop from the payout slot is more than his little heart can withstand. Hitting the ‘Cobrar’ button — to cash out — (who says video games aren’t instructive?) after using this strategy, the machine’s pattern has indicated the losses will pile up upon his deposit of more coins.

When his button pushing became fruitless (no pun intended), he has stepped aside from the machine. The temptation proves too great for me to resist. I plunk my quetzal down for the storeowner to make change.

Nervously, I insert my 25 centavos. Personally, these games are a waste of time. Without any skill element, I don’t see much fun beyond the initial few yucks.

Wouldn’t you know? Jackpot on the first try. With the five-coin prize, I collect my investment back plus enough for another popsicle. I push ‘Cobrar’ figuring another strawberry-tasting treat would be a more tangible reward than playing again.

Seeing as how Pakeman has provided winning selections, the 10-year-old returns. This time, after another four coins, he’s requesting, nay, demanding, my selection.

I have ‘the gift.’

Employing a quasi-scientific approach, I narrow my picks from the eight options. Having never seen the same fruit/bell/star pattern consecutively appear nor the ‘triple Bar’ light ever light up, I pare the gamble to six choices. And, for some reason, two of the fruit spaces have more lights allocated to them than others, so they become too enticing to overlook.

There’s something else grabbing my attention: the ‘Lucky Bouns’ square is misspelled. Figuring if the game designers can’t even spell ‘bonus’ correctly, how can they be entrusted to design a program to truly select at random?

Bingo! On his nickel! Then twice. I’m this kid’s lucky mascot, a golden goose. Now playing with the house’s money, the kid throws the coins into the slot and I am the official fruit picker. Kind of like reverse race relations.

If I play my cards right, maybe I should hang around longer, be his date and milk him for a meal. (See: Día 3 Sugar Daddy) In this instance I serve a valuable purpose.

Under my guidance the kid is up money and has recuperated his earlier losses. I’m encouraging him to walk away. Still, I suppose, I can be accused of egging him on with my antics of happy dancing. Regardless of my presence, he’s playing. If however he’s lost the thrill of winning, it doesn’t mean I should be deprived of the joys of his victories.

He says he’ll quit but we/he continue to win. First five coins, then another 10 and these earnings only fuel his desire to continue plugging the machine, thereby increasing his amounts wagered.

The storeowner is less than amused. Even with my happy dancing.

Finally, the kid loses. He promises he’ll go home. As he leaves, another youngster approaches the counter.

She’s younger than him.

She’s here to buy cigarettes.

Not compulsively writing….