As read in:
With my credit card quickly approaching the melt down stage, student loans still nipping at my heels, substitute teaching not as realiable as I wanted and writing still only a hobby (things are hobbies until someone starts paying you for them) I desperately needed another source of income. One of my friends was a higher up at a Casino in town. He said they had an opening for an animatronics operator. Animatronics operator? But I had to have a Carribbean accent. Carribbean accent?
Welcome! Grand to 'ave you down, great to see you out and about on dis fine Satcherday, de best day of de week you know. Dere's always plenty to see and do at de Club. Club Regent dat is. So check dos coats, rev up de engines and get in dere. But remember to scan dat club card. Dere's plenty of great prizes to be ad. And come say ello to Toukie when you get de chance, we'll ave a bit of a conversation, and maybe I'll tell you a joke or someting.
Toukie was a little black and white guy with a bit of a fowl attitute. His rotating roost was adorned with a thatched hut roof to thwart that relentless tropical sun. There was a scenic waterfall behind him and a little pond below where people often stopped to toss in a hopefully lucky coin. (He had eaten up all the fish along time ago) Beside him was Soca Sue, one of his feathered friends who sang with Toukie on occassion, joining the flock across the way in a chorus of island tunes. This was Toukie's hangout, the foyer of the casino where he greeted and kibitzed with patrons. It was a rather comfortable existence.
His alter egos were not as fortunate. Tucked away in a corner of the casino, out of sight of prying eyes and sensitive ears was the cubicle. Apartments in downtown Tokyo were like country manors compared to this. It was a glorified closet. And a closet that you had to be in for eight hours.
A typical shift would see me with three different rumpled newspapers in a pile in the corner and a Sports Illustrated open on my lap, my finger on the place I left off. An abandoned half drunken cold cup of 7-11 coffee would sit on the bank of machinery in front of me, a big bottle of water on the floor, too many McDonald's wrappers in the garbage can beside me, and a banana, on a bookshelf behind me, that was not nearly as brown at the beginning of the day. In my hands was what I liked to call Toukie's Bible, where I scripted out some pat responses and kept an archive of jokes and puns for those seemingly insatiable customers.
Eh mon, why did the raisin, go out wit de prune?
I don't know, tell us Toukie?
Cause he couldn't find a date.
So entrenched I would sit with four video screens, showing various angles of the foyer, observing people seemingly enjoying themselves and others with slunken shoulders, knowing they've lost far too much, determined that one last looney will win that elusive jackpot. I slipped the headset on, snapped my microphone piece in place, hit the power button and... showtime.
Dis wasn't my first job you know.
Where did you used to work Toukie?
I used to work in an orange juice factory, but I was fired.
Why was that?
I couldn't concentrate.
Saturday nights were the best time to be Toukie. People were in exploring the newly minted addition to the casino, maybe having something to eat, taking in the live entertainment, or even tossing a few quarters in the machines while wandering about absent mindedly. They would always make a point of talking to Toukie.
Is everyone 'aving a grand time?
Yeah, we're having a good time. But where are you?
Right in front of you mon, can't you see me? I'm the black and white bird wit de big
yellow beak. Better see de doctor about some glasses.
Smart guy! I'm going to climb up there and pluck you Toukie.
Pluck me? Well... pluck you!
Weekday shifts were a much different story. Then you would see the regulars, the same expressionless faces, lining up, like runners in a marathon at the starting line, antsy and impatient, until that magic time of 10 AM when the partitions would be removed and they could rush to their favourite machines. I always disliked that time, but such was life in a casino, where it was your job to turn a blind eye to the desperation and obsession.
Toukie, these machines aren't paying out.
Yes sistah, I ear dey are a bit coin-stipated.
The toughest times were late at night, when most of the people had gone, the eyelids were getting heavy from staring at a screen all night, and the throat a little tender from the constant talking. Entertaining sure isn't easy. Usually I would have a conversation with the security gaurd who was stationed across from my perch to pass the remaining time. And I guess it would sound funny to passersby, with an inanimate object debating current events with a live human being. In a silly Carribbean accent to boot.
I know mon, but dey are still bombin' a soverign coontry, and NATO is not the UN.
But eventually the night would end, and I would tidy up the cubicle, gather up my stuff, say goodbye to the other operator in the room above and turn off the equipment for the night. On my way out I'd pass the late night gamblers, and the cleaners sweeping up causually discarded cigarette butts, with the constant dinging of the slot machines in my ear.
Tanks for coming out folks, and ey come back again, come and visit Toukie, I don't go
anywhere, dey keep me tied to dis perch...it's a terrible ting.