There I was, sitting
around a table in a pub in the late afternoon with eight middle-aged drunk British
men, a hazy cloud of smoke hovering above us. My palms were sweaty, heart thumping in my
chest. Chasing aces was the game and the stakes were high. It was down to the
last three. One of us would either walk out of there $80 richer or with empty
pockets. It all depended on how the next
three rounds panned out. Had you asked
me that morning what my plan for the day was, my response would have been very
different from the day’s actual proceedings and I dare say, would not have
included gambling with a bevy of charming boozy Brits either.
The day started out normal
enough with the usual oatmeal and bananas for breakfast accompanied by a little
reading followed by a brief workout. I’d
heard about a horse racing festival going on in the main park the following day
and decided I would go see how the set up was coming along. The most ambitious of the booth owners had
already set up shop and were busily cooking and selling all kinds or delicious
looking foods and assortments of sweets.
I passed by an impressive looking table covered in perfect pyramids of
what I initially thought were regular chocolates. Upon taking a closer look I spotted the heavenly
word ‘Marzipan’ on nearly every tag placed in front of each chocolaty
mound. Had they been cheaper or I richer,
my lack of decision making capabilities coupled with my sugar obsession would
have undoubtedly resulted in the purchase of at least one of each, but alas,
they were anything but cheap so I painstakingly settled on two. So I had just
purchased some overly priced but totally worth it from the looks of them
marzipan chocolates and was feeling all bubbly inside as I reached my hand into
the bag, still undecided whether or not I would save any to bring home for Jare. My fingers just barely brushed the dusted
cocoa surface of one of the little delectables when a blond man with the build
of a Viking walked up to me and asked if I had a spare hour. I looked at him incredulously with double
raised eyebrows since in my old life a spare minute was hard to squeeze out of the day. “A spare hour?!” Then I remembered that this is my new life,
and in my new life I don’t have work or school or friends with which to fill my
days. I did have a spare hour. In fact, I had five. At the time however I did
not expect to spend all of those five with him.
He asked if I would be willing to help him and his friends out and
pointing to one of those group tour bikes across the plaza offered me all the
free beer I wanted if I would just help them pedal around the city for an
hour. Did it cost anything? Not a dime,
he said. What if I don’t drink? Not a problem, he said. Deal. He walked me to the bike, introduced me to
his friends and went off to scout for one more peddler. Once said peddler was procured
we were off! With Oasis’ ‘Wonderwall’
blaring and all of us singing along at the top of our lungs we cruised (at the
slowest pace possible to still qualify as cruising) around the city handing out
cups of beer to homeless men and any other soul they deemed fit for a free beer
along the way. People were waving,
taking pictures, and the drivers who weren’t angry at being stuck behind us
were pointing and smiling. We even got a
delivery van to push us along for a bit until the pressure of his van against
the bike broke his headlight. The tour
ended on a street known for its hip pubs and cafes. Jare was still at school and this lot proved
to be much more fun than wandering around alone so I went in with them, they
bought me a peach juice, and roped me and another couple into a game of cards. I
told them I didn’t gamble or have any money with me with which to gamble
anyhow, so one of them contributed my share into the collective pot and with
that, secured my spot in the game.
and so there we were.
$80 on the table and it was down to three.
The cards were dealt and before I had time to comprehend what had just
happened, I was out. Just like that? I
was crushed. Minutes after the game
began I set about in my mind fantasizing about how many weeks of groceries that
money could buy us, or maybe Jare and I could splurge a bit and eat out at a
restaurant other than our go to $1 falafel pizza joint! You see, I had already
spent the winnings in my mind before the game was even over and when I lost I
didn’t just lose the money, I lost all the hopes and dreams that came along
with it. I said my goodbyes and with head hung low, started on my way home. Jare
had called about a half hour earlier and told me he was home. I planned on going home a few short minutes
after speaking with him but the image I had of myself reaching across the table
and victoriously scooping the winnings up into my arms held me hostage there
until the bitter end. I had to see it through.
I had a chance at winning! I realized
that it was the exciting prospect of taking the pot that kept me there longer –
the thought of “free money” was so appealing.
Then I got to thinking, what does that say about me? Does that make me lazy?
Does it mean that I don’t like to work for my money? That I’d rather be given things in life than
earn them? In my mind, these were not
good traits to possess. I felt a bit
troubled about these new self-discoveries but told myself it was a one-time
thing and promptly dismissed the thoughts.
A few days later I
found myself in the women’s bathroom in a shopping mall guiltlessly wrapping
copious amounts of toilet paper around my hand and stuffing it into my
bag. I opened the stall door to find the
squat cleaning lady standing outside it. I quickly averted my eyes and kept
them fixed on the tiled floor as I hurriedly walked past her and out the door,
all the while feeling her eyes burning a hole in my bag. Did she know? Could she tell that I had wads of stolen mall
toilet paper in my bag? I only glanced back over my shoulder once before
reaching the doors to the outside and was relieved to find that she was not hot
on my heels. When I arrived home I promptly
unpacked the toilet paper from my bag and with satisfaction placed it neatly on
the toilet back. “there,” I thought to
myself, “that’ll last us about three days.” instead of the look of pride and
adoration I had anticipated seeing spread across Jare’s face when I told him I
had stolen toilet paper from the mall bathroom, he looked at me perplexed and
with concern in his eyes as he asked, “Why?”
It wasn’t until then that I realized just how far gone I was. The appeal
of free money is understandable, but getting excited over free toilet paper
when you can get a pack of 8 rolls for a dollar is just weird. Who does that? How did I get here? How did I become this person who gambles and
steals??? What has become of
me??!!! Desperate times my friends.
Desperate times.
We have been living
here for about a month now and paying for things like rent, food, health
insurance, and pesky exorbitant residency application costs, which actually wouldn’t
have been a problem had the government loan we were so heavily relying on come
through already. But it hadn’t, and the already
meager funds in our bank accounts were ever dwindling, creating a proportional rise
in my anxiety levels in response. The
end result was a desperate girl forced into a life of crime, gambling, and having
to choose between chocolates when really she’d prefer to have them all. What kind of a life is that?
Well it’s a week later
and our loan has finally come in. I’d
like to say that it was out of desperation that I behaved the way I did; that it
was desperation which made me giddy at the thought of easy money and turned me
into a crazy lady in a bathroom stall frantically stuffing toilet paper into my
bag. But I’d be lying if I did. Even though our bank accounts are replenished
and my anxiety is practically nonexistent, I still swipe the extra napkins from
our table in restaurants and slip them into my bag and it is very likely that I
will make an unnecessary trip to the
bathroom next time I’m at the shopping mall and help myself to inordinate
amounts of their toilet paper. I found
50 euros lying next to 100 Czech koruna on the ground on my walk home today and
the excitement I felt when wide-eyed I picked it up and stuffed it into my
pocket was equal to that which I would have felt had I found it just after
spending our very last penny. So I guess
it isn’t just desperate times that lead to desperate measures. Maybe I just
like the easy money and free stuff after all.
next time: zumba with Keaira Lashae and my list of loves
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