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Credit Card Roulette Is Ruining My Life

Credit Card Roulette Is Ruining My Life

My friends are degenerates. Let me clarify: most of my friends are degenerate gamblers. NBA, MLB, NFL, college football, women’s soccer, etc. — no sport is too obscure for these guys. It’s actually very entertaining as a spectator to be at a bar watching a mid-season NHL game with them and seeing the roller coaster of emotions they go through when they’ve got an entire paycheck riding on a team they know next to nothing about. “Does Modano still play?” No, no he does not, but you still put $3K on the Stars. Unfortunately for me, their gambling bleeds over into other aspects of life. Aspects that one would not normally associate with gambling. Of course, I’m talking about gambling on the check — fucking credit card roulette.

This is a classic game of chance where the winner enjoys a free meal, and the loser enjoys the bill and a turd sandwich. It’s a great way to mix things up if you’re tired of doing the same old dinner and drinks, or brunch and mimosas every single weekend. In theory, everyone orders a normal meal, maybe a drink or two, and then tosses in their card. Good, clean fun. Unless you’re playing with my piece of shit friends, who give zero fucks about anything. When you’re playing a game of chance with these SOBs, the stakes are high.

On one end of the table, you’ve got Stuart ordering an app, the filet (10 oz.), a side salad, and now he’s on this rosé kick. On the other end, you’ve got James diving head first into the top shelf, over and over again. To these guys, it doesn’t matter. They’re single with a disgusting amount disposable income, and their lives are pointless and flaccid unless they’ve got some action going. Enter me: I restrict my gambling to Vegas and New Orleans trips. I’m a blackjack man, but after a few, I’ll hop on the tables and catch fire. But that’s where I draw the line. I learned in college that betting on sports was a road I did not want to go down, mainly because I lost my shit betting Longhorn football. By “my shit,” I mean my dad’s shit since he’s the one that covered the loss (You’re the real MVP, Dad). You could say that I’m not really good at the whole gambling thing.

It looks very similar to this, except instead of world class athletes, you have world class pieces of shit:

I’m currently riding a back-to-back-to-back losing streak in CC Roulette. It would be comical if it wasn’t slowly pushing back my retirement age by a month each time. It’s to the point that I’m actually expecting to lose each time we go out. The anxiety that I feel as the waiter is directed to blindly select a credit card is almost as painful as the actual hit my bank account takes every Monday when the charges go through. Fucking brutal.

Could I just opt out, or say, “Sorry, you guys, I’m not playing” and throw off the entire vibe of the group, ruining the day, night, and possibly the entire month? No. I can’t do that. I have to keep up with the group, even if that means taking it in the shorts every weekend. Sure, there’s some insecurity there, but I don’t want to be the wet blanket on the group, or the elephant in the room (patio) when the check comes. What I’m about to propose is lame enough.

I think that we’re at a point in society where we need to set some guidelines for CC Roulette. I’m not trying to go Bernie Sanders over here, but I think a little bit of oversight would do us all a lot of good. And by all, I mean me, mainly. If we’re going to play the game, let’s play it right. There’s no need to see who can order the most absurd item on the menu. We’re all friends here, and we’re well aware that you’re balls deep in the game of life. Maybe take it down a notch and pass on the Crème brûlée (overrated by the way). Let’s impose a reasonableness standard that, if violated, will subject you to public shaming.

I’m not calling for a bright line rule here, just something with a little flexibility, so we can call an asshole an asshole when we need to. Also, it’d be nice if the CC Roulette winners would pick up the tip or something. Just a thought. I know it’ll never happen because my friends are assholes. Maybe I’ll make some new ones. Nah, I don’t have the time or energy for that.

Image via Shutterstock

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Dave

Lawyer. Writer. Dude doing business. I'm the meatloaf guy from tv.

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