Las Vegas, Hell On Earth

Las Vegas, Hell On Earth

A colleague once described Las Vegas as the incarnation of hell on earth. After spending a week amongst the flashing lights and brain busting bells of the slot machines I beg to differ - it's worse.

As well as ignoring the normal circadian rhythms of daily life - the Casinos run 24 hours a day - Las Vegas also has no respect for the emotional and financial limitations of its victims. Forget the glamorous image of high rollers in tuxedos and tiaras betting thousands with impunity at every spin of the roulette wheel.

Substitute bleary eyed hopefuls in wrinkled t-shirts and jeans playing the 25 cent slots. Hoping that the next spin of the electronic fruits and bars - mechanical rotors long since retired - will win them a desperately needed debt clearing jackpot or the shiny black 4WD rotating slowly above their heads.

Consider rows of pawn shops lining the north end of the strip, each one a testimony to the desperation of a gambler needing just a few more dollars for one last shot at the big win.
Except that this last shot will be the same as all the other last shots which has gradually stripped his home of every item of financial value. Ignore the emotional cost of losing precious gifts chosen and purchased with love before the playing cards and rolling dice took hold. The only object that lives close the gambler's heart now is the plastic gaming card replenished by the pawnbroker's limitless generosity.

Think only of yet another violent confrontation within one of the thousands of low cost housing developments surrounding the city which has helped to place Nevada high up in the American league table of domestic violence.*

With such misery in abundance I would have expected some display of social responsibility by the casinos. Instead I saw black suited employees wandering the glittering aisles checking that their army of electronic and human croupiers were extracting every last shirt button.

No friendly tap on the shoulder like a friendly bar tender telling a client he has had enough to drink. No gentle word in a frazzled ear suggesting those last few dollars might be better spent feeding and clothing a family. Just the relentless drive to make sure that every lost soul in this hell on earth gets their full share of purgatory.

*Source: Silent Witness National Initiative - www.silentwitness.net/states/us_map.htm



	A colleague once described Las Vegas as the incarnation of hell on earth. After spending a week amongst the flashing lights and brain busting bells of the slot machines I beg to differ - it's worse. As well as ignoring the normal circadian rhythms of daily life - the Casinos run 24 hours a day - Las Vegas also has no respect for the emotional and financial limitations of its victims. Forget the glamorous image of high rollers in tuxedos and tiaras betting thousands with impunity at every spin of the roulette wheel. Substitute bleary eyed hopefuls in wrinkled t-shirts and jeans playing the 25 cent slots. Hoping that the next spin of the electronic fruits and bars - mechanical rotors long since retired - will win them a desperately needed debt clearing jackpot or the shiny black 4WD rotating slowly above their heads. Consider rows of pawn shops lining the north end of the strip, each one a testimony to the desperation of a gambler needing just a few more dollars for one last shot at the big win. Except that this last shot will be the same as all the other last shots which has gradually stripped his home of every item of financial value. Ignore the emotional cost of losing precious gifts chosen and purchased with love before the playing cards and rolling dice took hold. The only object that lives close the gambler's heart now is the plastic gaming card replenished by the pawnbroker's limitless generosity. Think only of yet another violent confrontation within one of the thousands of low cost housing developments surrounding the city which has helped to place Nevada high up in the American league table of domestic violence.* With such misery in abundance I would have expected some display of social responsibility by the casinos. Instead I saw black suited employees wandering the glittering aisles checking that their army of electronic and human croupiers were extracting every last shirt button. No friendly tap on the shoulder like a friendly bar tender telling a client he has had enough to drink. No gentle word in a frazzled ear suggesting those last few dollars might be better spent feeding and clothing a family. Just the relentless drive to make sure that every lost soul in this hell on earth gets their full share of purgatory. *Source: Silent Witness National Initiative - www.silentwitness.net/states/us_map.htm