Against the House

My dark phone screen suddenly flashed lightly—a notification. I grabbed my square device and checked the notification banner; to my dismay I saw the red words appear on my screen, meaning that I’d lost.

“Shit...” I said as I clicked my tongue angrily and grabbed a pack of my smokes. I took a long drag of my cigarette and flicked through my screen.

I’d been banking on this notification to help me make rent this month, but it seemed I was out of luck. This app, called Ludo, allowed users to gamble effortlessly with a little flick of their finger. From disaster to events to sports or politics, we could gamble on basically anything that the app deemed important or worthy.

It helped users not only keep up-to-date with the latest news, but there were many who actively rooted for misfortune. In this world, where seemingly everything was falling apart at its seams with an incompetent administration, rapid inflation, and the low wages, schadenfreude was how many derived entertainment and joy. Even TV shows and movies were bereft of creativity these days, and the only other vice that people could turn to was gambling. It didn’t really feel like I was gaining or losing much money anyway—it was all just pixels, numbers on a screen of ones and zeroes.

There was a recent high-profile case of a man who murdered his two kids in cold blood. His eyes flashed with insanity as he grinned in court and proudly, unabashedly declared that he just wanted to see how it felt to kill as though he wanted to automatically be sent to a mental asylum. The bets were whether he would get the death penalty or life in prison. I gambled on the former, but the verdict was in, and it was the latter. Multiple consecutive life sentences.

I mentally cursed our administration for being so soft and lenient—why should my taxpayer money go to housing and feeding this lunatic? The little money I made could surely be put to good use if this crazy man got the lethal injection. But crying or whining wouldn’t solve anything. As I finished my cigarette and put it out on the ground, I stepped back inside for my shift.

“Rose, take the register for Line 2,” my boss ordered, looking equally haggard but a touch giddy.

He probably won that bet.

I gave a grunt of acknowledgement and tied my brown hair back into a ponytail as I got back to work reeking of cigarette smoke. These registers hardly needed anyone at all. The items that touched the belt were automatically calculated for me and showed up on my screen as one big list of items. I simply told the customer the total, took their payment and gave them change when necessary, and unenthusiastically, robotically wished them a great day. It was the same old monotonic thing, the same old routine, the days blending together. And before I knew it, years had passed.

I wasn’t always this way.

I didn’t want to be this way.

If twelve-year-old me saw my twenty-seven-year-old current self, she’d probably be disappointed and burst into tears out of sheer terror. Who would want a future like this? A college graduate, a once-hopeful IT engineer who really wanted to make a change in this world, barely able to scrape by with shifts at a grocery store. I’d been rejected by multiple places that I once deemed beneath me—a horrific blow to my ego—because I was apparently overqualified for the role.

I was overqualified to be a cashier, but underqualified to be in my field. I was lucky that I was able to get my current job at all.

The question was how I could make rent now. As my body went through the motions at the register, my mind clicked away with calculations. I could take a safe bet on something tonight, and use that as part of my rent. Maybe I could beg my landlord to cut me some slack (a long shot to use only when I truly was out of cash). I could borrow money from someone, but that was how my parents cut me off, disappointed by my success, or the lack thereof.

“Excuse me,” a pudgy woman snapped as she stuffed her items in a reusable bag.

“Hm?” I asked, snapping out of my thoughts, forgetting to smile.

“I thought that there was a coupon for these strawberries.”

I quickly scanned the list of items and then the paper. “Just one sec, ma’am...”

“How can you not know about your store’s coupons? For the love of Pete...”

I ignored her obviously rude remarks—mentally unchecking the kindness box in my head—and tried to focus on my work.

“Ah, yes, it’s a digital coupon, ma’am,” I said.

“Huh?” the woman asked. “I never really understand those kinds of stuff. I just know that there is a coupon. Dock it off for me.”

“Sure, do you have your phone with you?”

“No, I don’t have a phone with me! I don’t carry it around all the time! I want that coupon!”

She was clearly growing more irate by the second, and this was way past my pay grade. I stood there for several seconds like a brick wall, her incessant insults and annoyed arguing just turning into white noise as I zoned out.

“Are you listening?!” she snapped.

“Huh?” I asked, once again brought back to reality. “Oh, uh, sorry. Yeah, store policy requires that we need your digital coupon for this...”

“I’d like to see your manager, please.”

My manager hated to be called for stuff like this. The general rule was that we solved this stuff by ourselves because he was off doing God knows what in the back of the store. Again, this was way above my pay grade and I genuinely did not care. Besides, it wasn’t like a multimillion dollar corporation would weep over some strawberries.

“Just take it,” I said.

The angry woman at once turned all sweet and cheerful. “Oh? Really? Are you sure?”

As though she wanted me to change my mind.

I gave her an apathetic grunt as she happily whisked her carton of strawberries into her bag, paid for her other items, and left. Not even a thank you. Granted, I didn’t give the free fruit to her out of the kindness of my heart nor was I trying to stick it to the big guys; I was just tired and literally couldn’t have cared less about the coupon.

When my shift was over, I headed home. A cramped, sparsely furnished one bedroom apartment that was my only oasis among the sea of crap that I had to wade through this world. My fridge, as empty as my room, told me that tonight’s dinner was some leftover limp spinach, some bread, and a banana. A feast fit for a king.

I sank into an old sofa of the living room and opted for a banana and a mug of warm tea as I booted up the Ludo app and scrolled through my phone.

This app allowed us to gamble even the deaths of high-profile cases or famous people. There was some news about how betting on or against a death of a person was seen as immoral, but for one reason or another, the app was still allowed to proceed with these bets. It was overwhelmingly popular among the masses, and despite news sources the barbaric nature of blood sports, the fact of the matter was that it raked in a ton of money—the wealthy, despite the potential risks toward them, were more than happy to gamble on their chance of evading the eyes of the masses so that they could reap the benefits.

Gambling was bad and it was an addiction. Of course it was. But as these bets permeated throughout every facet of our lives, it just became a part of our culture, a daily routine that people partook in with naive hopes that they could make it big and leave with all of their earnings. Was this all an illusion? Almost certainly. But when we literally had nothing to lose and no other means to dig ourselves out of the hole of poverty, what else could we do? My current job could barely make ends meet, and I was too exhausted to search for a new job in my free time. All of us users won decently once. Not enough that it changed our lives completely, but enough to understand the lucrative winnings of gambling and want more, forever enticing us to chase that dragon.

Most apps were known to be a bit scummy with their payouts, but Ludo was different. There might’ve been some powerful people manipulating the odds and such, but this app paid us right away, straight to our bank accounts. Perfection.

I generally didn’t bet on the deaths of presidents, prime ministers, or other famous and influential people—these sorts of figures had enough money and authority to be heavily guarded at all times, and the gambling odds almost always tipped in the favor of their survival. And, of course, no normal person was foolish enough to try to take them out lest they get arrested for their crimes.

I usually betted on current events. Would we wage war with a certain country? Would gas prices increase? What would be the outcome of an infamous murderer? Would there be a pandemic? Today, however, I decided to go for a safer bet—would there be a suicide tonight at the Vegas casino? The answer was almost always yes.

Many people would either off themselves for the money they lost, or maybe they’d overdose on some sort of drug. No matter what acts of debauchery they indulged themselves in, I was almost certain that someone would turn up dead. I was generally right, too.

After I placed my bet, I scrolled through my phone some more, wading through negative news, devastating articles, and other forms of cheap entertainment that failed to earn even the faintest of smiles from me. It was then that I received a call from a friend. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, and as his name appeared on my screen, I tapped the button to receive it.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Hey, Rose, long time no talk!” a familiar voice on the other line said, sounding bright and cheery.

“For real! How’ve you been, Duncan? Doing well? How’s life?”

“Oh, it’s the same. I recently received a promotion from work, which is neat! I have to do some travelling, but hey, to look at it positively, I’ll get to tour the world! I’m so excited to see where this new chapter takes me!”

A sting of inferiority hit my chest. I was happy for my friend who was seemingly moving his way up in the world, but me? I was stuck as a cashier at a supermarket. The difference between us was like night and day, and I could hardly believe that we were once classmates, aiming for the same goal and the same bright future.

“Congrats!” I replied, trying to sound as sunny as I could. “I’m really happy for you! Things are looking up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Duncan said. “I don’t mean to brag to you or anything. I just wanted to share the good news with you and catch up! How’s everything on your end?”

“Aw, don’t think that you’re bragging or anything. I always love it when you share all your positive stuff!” I paused for a moment. “I’m, er, well, you know... Same old... Trying to, um, find a new job, and er, working at my old one for now... I’m doing my best.”

“Don’t you worry about it—companies will find and hire you in no time! It’s criminal that they don’t, but they will! I’m sure of it! You’re so good at what you do, and even in class, you were always the best. It’s just bad luck, that’s all. The right opportunity will come at you at just the right time. I know it.”

I smiled. “Thanks. Your words really mean a lot. I can only hope that we’ll get there one day.”

“Oh, we’ll both get there. It’s just a matter of when.”

“Here’s hoping, huh? Looks like you’re a step ahead of me though.”

“It doesn’t matter how fast you are. It only matters that we’ll both be there in the end.”

“Ha ha, I’ll trust you. Since y’know, I don’t really have much faith in myself. How’s the rest of your life? Things going well with Becca?”

“Actually... I’m thinking of proposing to her.”

“What?! No way! That’s awesome, Dunc!”

“Yeah, but I’m a bit nervous...”

“Hey, you’re a great guy. Are you guys are so in love. I’m sure that you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

“Heh, well, fingers crossed for that.”

“Good luck, man. Becca’s awesome. You guys are perfect together.”

Needless to say, I couldn’t tell him that I’d taken up gambling as a side gig, placing bets that someone might commit suicide in a Vegas casino. How could I? Here was this perfect guy with a perfect life who likely would raise a perfect family. And me? I was none of those things. I was lucky that he even hit me up.

We talked for a while and hung up. I scrolled on my phone some more and fell asleep, almost knowing that I’d receive a notification and a modest paycheck tomorrow with my earnings.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of the alarm on my phone. I blearily rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on the screen. Did I get it? Did I get my payout? I generally thought that this was a safe bet, but I could never be too sure. As I squinted at my screen, I didn’t see the usual green letters that congratulated me on my win, nor was I given a red negative notification of my loss; I was instead greeted by a set of cold, black letters that appeared on my phone.

Your payout is on hold due to suspicions of cheating.