As some of you know, I’m a gambler.  Sometimes a good one, and sometimes I lose.  And I’m admittedly addicted to the rush of winning.  Friday night, I went to the casino with my neighbors. After an hour of chasing “my rush,” we met in the restaurant for dinner.  I didn’t even look at menu, nor the specials, I ordered heart-attack food: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes with sausage gravy, and corn.  Delicious, though I only ate a third of it.

We returned to the gaming room.  I’d been seated at a one-armed bandit for 30 minutes when the drink-cart girl came by.  I ordered a $5 beer and handed her a $20.  “I’ll be right back with your change and beer.”  Forty-five minutes passed–no change, no beer.  I went to the drink station and inquired.  No one seemed to know the whereabouts of my server.  Over an hour passed, and again I inquired.  My server remained MIA.

I had just returned to the slot machine I was playing when the suits descended upon me. Walkie-talkies, ear wires, etc.  Now, every gambler in my line of sight was staring at me, like I was a criminal!  “We need to see your ID.”  Really?  I look under 21?

“Why? Almost two hours ago, I ordered a beer and was told….”

“Show us at which machine you were sitting when this allegedly took place.”

“Allegedly?  Wait a minute.”  I rose, walked three machines down and said, “Here.”

With that one of my casino friends declared, “And I was sitting over there and witnessed it.”

Suit number 1 spoke into his walkie-talkie, “Check video of Bank 98 for the last two hours  and the drink server.  Yes, I do have a witness. Yes, yes, yes.”  He turned to me, “After we review the surveillance tape may get your beer and your change.”

Onlookers were surrounding me–probably awaiting my escort out of the casino.  I was livid!  I’ve watched and reported casino drifters who cash out tickets and steal others’ money.  I’ve listened to victims be told: “Your ticket was cashed, and the thief left the casino, according to our video.”  And now, I’m suspected of fabricating a story over one beer and a $20 bill.

“Gentlemen, don’t waste you time on your spy gear.  I suspect you think I made up this story.  I’m neither a liar, nor a thief.  My life will go on without a $20 and a beer.  Just forget it.”  The crowd watched.

As the suits left, my friend stopped them, within my ear shot, “That was a dumbass thing you did to Sue. For God’s sakes, she’s a gazillionaire!”  Oh, sweet baby Jesus!  While I appreciated her defense of me, she just told an outrageous lie about me!  Now, I was really a marked woman.

Shortly thereafter, my $20 and a beer was delivered.  “That will be $5.”

What was I expecting?  An apology? A bottle of champagne?  I would have settled for people to stop staring at me.  While I committed no crime, I felt dirty. My personal integrity called into question.  And no, regardless of how I crave the heart-attack, chicken-fried steak,  I will no longer donate part of my social security check there again.