Day 327 - The Old Man with All the Paperwork

 The Old Man with All the Paperwork

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

The wait for a seat at the restaurant was estimated to be forty-five minutes to an hour. It had already been forty-five and there was no reason to believe it would be anything less than the hour. Happy Thanksgiving. Try to remember to make a reservation next time.

From the chairs in the food court, I could see the screens in the sportsbook. Men’s, women’s, college, NFL. Over, under, spreads, money lines, first half stats, individual stats. A million and one ways to lose your money.

A table was covered in papers and pencils. Perhaps a great meeting of the minds had occurred. Perhaps a group spent all of ten minutes figuring out what to bet on. Parley. No, Round Robin. No, individual players. The world would be theirs to win.

There was a child making faces at the staff of the sandwich shop. His parents didn’t seem to notice. Cute kid. He seemed bored. Vegas casinos were hardly the best place for children or for Thanksgiving celebrations.

I checked for an update on the wait time. The food court was starting to look better and better.

When I returned to my seat, there was an old man sitting at the table with all the paperwork. He hunched over, pencil in hand, flipping through pages and pages of data. Lost in thought, a man possessed. I, of course, had sat at enough card tables and spun the wheel enough times to recognize the look. I knew that man. I had been that man. It was incredibly easy to be that man. The old man with a plan, like he was going to beat the casino at its own game. The best and the brightest could be consumed by that endeavor. He sure didn’t look like the best or the brightest. But he did have a lot of paperwork.

My stomach rumbled. I was almost too hungry. The games were in full swing, but there were always more to come. I wondered what his move would be. What trick did he have? Where was he going to make his stand?

Nothing about the building fair. Nothing about this town was even or just. Man was very good about tricking himself. Be it hope or desperation or boredom or addiction. Broken dreams and empty wallets littered the streets.

It wasn’t my day, week or year. All I wanted was to be allowed to spend too much money at an over priced restaurant, but even that was getting more and more difficult with so many other tourists to compete with. The town was not for me anymore. Time was moving on.

But there was still time for someone. Godspeed to the old man in the food court, with all the paperwork. I sure hope he shows them all.