Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell
Nazi-man and an Angel
Mr. Psycho Nazi-man, the most bizarre of all the gambling addicts. To become addicted to throwing your money away is strange enough, but the things customers have me do before throwing their money away turns it from a bad habit into mass-insanity. The most common oddity is people wanting me to blow on their roll of change. I have no idea why speckles of my saliva are supposed to bring luck to a roll of dirty money, but somehow, these people have it in their minds that it will. Other people want me to say "good luck" three times in a row, because "threes a charm." But, the most sinister good luck charm comes from Nazi-man.
For some twisted reason, probably being dropped on his head at birth, Nazi-man is convinced the spirit of Adolf Hitler lives on inside of slot machines everywhere. So, immediately after buying a roll of quarters, he gives a German salute, clicks his heels together, and spits out a powerful "Heil Hitler!" He then proceeds to salute his machine each time, before pulling the lever. So far, I have yet to see him win anything, but the big men upstairs continue allowing his salutes because, "he doesnt mean any harm, and he spends a lot of money." I tend to lean toward the "spends a lot of money" part as the real reason this nut is still in the casino.
So, here I am, once again going against my principles for nine dollars an hour, and selling this Hitler loving psycho 15 rolls of nickels. He hands me his thirty-dollars, salutes the ceiling, clicks his heels together like he thinks hes going to go to some Nazi-infested Kansas, and sits his fat ass back down at his "Naughty Nickels" machine.
I walk away; feeling slightly disgusted with myself. Initially, I would not sell to the guy, but then upper management threatened to take away a point for every time I refused him, and I buckled under the "pressure" and sold-out. Its like my grandpa used to say, "the longer you live, the more you realize, life is one big sellout." What he didn't tell me was, I'm usually going to be the product that's being sold.
Damn, I hate this place. I just want to leave. Rescue Sue, lock my dead dog in Limbo, blow Richards brains out, and leave this fucking pit. I look up at the cameras that are staring down at me. I think about Richard listening to my every thought. This is it. Ive had it. I cant do this anymore. If they wanna kill me, and stick my eyeball into a security-camera, so be it. Im out of here.
I throw my change-belt onto the floor and begin storming out of the casino. Im nearly to the front door when I notice everything has paused. Just like a videotape. People are froze in mid-sentence, time is standing still, and nothing is moving, except me. And then theres that unnerving silence. No ringing bells, no people coughing, no cash machines spitting out money. If it werent so eerie, it would be Heaven.
Then I see Slot Service Specialist, Lisa, and shes beautiful. I nearly fall to my knees, feeling humble within the glow of her magnificence. Gee, maybe I should have thought about rescuing her, after-all. "You cant rescue me, Wayne," I hear her voice deep within my head, responding to my thoughts, "Im already dead."
Go to: Chapter 44
©1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.
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