The scantily clad waitress sauntered up to me and Jan and asked in her most seductive voice, “Can I take your drinks order, gentlemen?” “I’ll have a dry martini – shaken not stirred,” I said in true James Bond style. “ Jan said, “I’ll have a Klipdrift met ys. You’ll be staying here at the blackjack table so I’ll know where to find you?” “Oh yes,” I answered, ”Townie’s on a roll…er…Mr Bond, I mean”.
It was our first visit to the new casino in a town near us. Not quite like Monaco’s finest, but it was still filled to capacity with people pouring their wages into the mouths of the mechanical monsters, the prospect of sudden wealth tempting them to keep playing until their last cent was gone. But the slots always win – they’re rigged to pay out big only when the casino’s coffers are overflowing. Why the government allowed a casino to be built in the heart of a rural area mostly populated by the poor, I’ll never know. Even more insidiously, it’s owned by a black consortium. Our drinks arrived and with casino chips piled high, I decided this was my night to break the bank. A crowd gathered around the table. The dealer tried her best to break my run of luck, but to no avail. My stacks of chips grew higher. The floor manager eyed me suspiciously, convinced I was the first professional gambler to hit the casino. He rushed off to compare my identity with his collection of mugshots.
“Cash in, Townie, while you’re ahead,” Jan whispered in my ear. Drinks, now free, kept coming and the crowd got bigger. What would James Bond do? “Cash in,” I said to the dealer. The crowd was disappointed. “Wise decision,” said Jan. The dealer exchanged my huge pile of R5 chips for the bigger, more valuable ones. I tipped her generously and hoped she’d be there next time. Then, swaggering over to the roulette table, umteenth martini in hand, I placed all the chips on red. “You’re nuts!” Jan exclaimed. The croupier spun the wheel. White ball dropped into the black and they cleaned me out. Over coffee on my stoep the next morning, Jan ventured, “I don’t think you’re really cut out for the James Bond role. All the signs that you should’ve put your chips on black were there: you were winning at the blackjack table, the croupier was black, the casino is black-owned…” “It’s like this Jan,” I explained, “I only saw red – my last martini was stirred not shaken!” – Derek Christopher
