The Cooler

People who manipulate the non-scientific, yet perfectly true tenets of gambling

Posted by Chuckmonster

Please Don't Step on My Mojo

The CoolerBetween sips of complimentary champagne at the Le Village Buffet at Paris Las Vegas courtesy of Mr. & Mrs. Jackpots and their extremely handy Diamond Card, Mr. Jackpots relayed a story to us about his experience with a group of friends who cooled the previous nights gambling at Ballys. Evidently, this group of coolers - non-gamblers - found it impossible to entertain themselves in the neon wonderland and instead insisted on following Mr. & Mrs. Jackpots from slot to blackjack to Three Card Poker back to slot and so on. The cooler brigade debated the mathematical impossibility of winning in a casino while sitting in ajacent slot machine stools. Chomping on kettle chips. And talking. And watching.

Mrs. Jackpots is known around these parts for her spidey sense with slot machines, she can point at the Blazing 7s in Ballys and say "that's not gonna hit until about 1am." At midnight we return to the bank and disburse to seperate machines, inevitably the phone call comes : "Doood, I hit Double Double Double - come here and take picture of it."

Now, we respect Mrs. Jackpots. Seriously. You don't know slot machine voodoo until you've seen Mrs. Jackpots in action. Miss Monkay, Mr. Jackpots and myself are all mystified by this zen focus Mrs. Jackpots channels when she's perusing the slot floor. She has a sixth sense about slots, she's The Slot Whisperer. Just as a joke, Miss Monkay asked Mrs. Jackpots to faux-hump a Triple Sevens machine Miss Monkay was playing at Mandalay Bay. Mrs. Jackpots giggled and gave the machine a little hoochie coochie and the next spin came up Red 7s straight across. Crazy. There's only one thing that can dislodge the laser guided focus of Mrs. Jackpots' uncanny ability - The Cooler.

There she was, Mrs. Jackpots: diamond level slot machine goddess who has decorated her house with furniture and appliances purchased at the Primm Valley Resort Outlet Shops all with cash pulled out of slot machines. She hasn't paid for a room or food in Vegas since she got her first Players Club card. But tonight she's got a dilemma - a gaggle of friends whose lack of imagination has transformed them from friends to coolers. Every move Mrs. J makes, the cooler crew follows her - her only respite is when they leave (in shifts) to go get snacks. The closest Mrs. Jackpots can get to her meditative state is broken by the lip smacking slurptation of ice cream on a stick, or the incessant crunching of kettle chips in close proximity.

When Miss Monkay and I hooked up with Mrs. J at Ballys, she immediately asked us to run interference to get the cooler brigade out of her transom. Miss Monkay obliged and dragged the coolers away to another part of the casino. Within minutes Mrs. J phoned "Dooood, I hit $1080... thanks!" While that was great for Mrs. J, the coolers were now surrounding me - chomping, slurping, talking.

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