Hick, the Pea-Pickin' Penny-Pincher

I mentioned yesterday that Hick and I were surprised last Sunday to see the casino parking lot almost full. We don't park in the parking garage, even though it's free. We park out at the end, in an open lot. I'm pretty sure there are still surveillance camera pointed seven ways to Sunday out there. Normally, we only encounter about 10-15 cars in that lot.

This parking lot is at the opposite end of the complex from the casino. I use the walk for my daily exercise, since it's too dark when we get home now for my driveway walk. Hick and I cut through the corner of the parking garage, go up a long covered sidewalk, share a compartment in the revolving door, and walk past the check in desk for the hotel, and the event center, and shops, and restaurants. As we got out of the car, I said, "Maybe they're not all in the casino! Maybe there's a corporate seminar, or a wedding reception, or some big event in the event center." Sure enough, there was.

Hick was nearly purring with excitement as we strolled down the carpet in front of the event center. He was holding my hand, and for once, I didn't try to get loose. I kept my grip on him.

"Look, Val! There's your event. See the sign? 'Models Line Up Here.' Maybe I should get in line, heh, heh!"

"You're not model material."

"Who said I wanted to be a model? I just want to stand in the line!"

Indeed. There were many sweet young things dolled up in dresses milling around, the line reaching from the tables inside that we could see, to the area along the wall on the other side. They had left a gap in their line for the carpeted walkway.

"That's not happening."

Maybe some of those prospective models brought parents or boyfriends along, who were killing time by playing in the casino. In any case, I mentioned yesterday how it was crowded, but that I was a winner this time, even though Hick (winning the last three visits) was not. We had a good time, and a good meal. When it was time to leave, Hick was busy losing the last of a twenty, and told me to go ahead and cash out.

Maybe that's the way men think. Maybe that's how they're wired. Just walk over and get your cash from the machine. Not this ol' Val! I'm always leery when cashing out. I'm an old lady with un-runnable knees. I feel vulnerable. There are usually people lined up three deep at those cash-out machines up front. I don't need anybody looking over my shoulder to see how much I'm getting paid from my tickets. I most often accumulate tickets until I'm ready to leave, because if I have cash, I might be tempted to put it back in a machine. When I have tickets, I don't play them.

I had a goodly sum of money on those tickets. I'd won back all I put in, plus $200 extra. I like to cash out round numbers, so it's easier to keep track in my head of how much money I'm down or ahead. Sometimes I'll have odd change on them, but generally the dollar amounts I cash out at zeroes and fives for ease of adding and subtracting.

Hick finished losing his money, and came to stand beside me at the money machine. He stood sideways, facing my right side, between me and the other cash-out machine, while I fed in nine tickets. After the first two, Hick jabbed a ticket at me. "Here! Cash this one, too." That was going to throw me off. I knew how many tickets I had, and the approximate amount I was getting back. Now this. I looked down at Hick's ticket, and it was 19 cents.

Hick refuses to leave any money in a machine. Sometimes people leave a ticket of a few cents on the machine, because they don't want it. If somebody playing next to me has struck up a conversation, I might hand them my ticket of a few cents. Just to spare myself the trouble of cashing it if I've already cashed in my main money, and am playing a couple of dollars while waiting for Hick to come back from the bathroom. Lately, though, I keep the cents and cash them, and use them for my 44 oz Diet Coke change.

When the money came out, I grabbed the bills, folded them once, and put them in my front shirt pocket. Nobody needs to know my business there. I can sort it in the car going down the highway at 55 mph. I scoop out the coins and put them in my pants pocket. Funny thing about that casino cash machine...it never gives out dimes! Always quarters, nickels, and pennies.

Hick had been watching that cash-out machine total up my tickets. As soon as I scooped out the coins, he held out his hand, palm up. "WHAT?" I though Hick was joking, like he was taking a cut of my money. No. We keep it separate. I didn't hold my hand for his winnings on the last three trips. But Hick was insistent.

"I ain't jokin'. I thought you'd give me those three nickels and two pennies for my ticket."

"WHAT? You really want the change back? I need change for my Diet Cokes!"

"Well, I gave you a ticket for 19 cents, and thought you'd give me back the 17 cents you got out of the cash machine."

Hick never ceases to annoy amaze me. I gave it to him, after some of his passive aggressive squabbling that..."I don't want it, keep it, keep the 17 cents, forget it."

Anyhoo...that's not the Hick-drama that ruffled my feathers the most. While standing at the ticket cashing machine, I saw a guy behind Hick bend down and pick something up.

I'M PRETTY SURE IT WAS A PENNY!

Remember, those machines only give out quarters and nickels and pennies. Somebody would have picked up their quarter or nickel. I'm pretty sure that dude got my rightful penny while Hick was blocking it from my view.