Vancouver Casino - Canada day
From the scorching sun of Pearl City to the crisp, northern winds of Richmond, an unexpected gesture of immigrant solidarity sets the stage for a dramatic, solitary return to the casino floor and a miraculous one-cent jackpot.
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CHAPTER I: Canada Day
After getting our flight and tickets to Vancouver, we stepped out of the Sun Travel agency in Aiea. Our
old bicycles were waiting for us outside. After unlocking them, I first had to insert my seat into its slot and
secure it. Mitschiko’s seat was bolted on so it couldn’t be easily stolen, which is why we never removed it.
Once on our bikes, we started pedaling, first heading left along the sidewalk until we reached the six-lane
Kamehameha Highway.
We crossed the main road at the pedestrian crosswalk. As soon as we reached the other side, we found
ourselves at a park. If you rode straight through the park, the ocean began at the far end—or rather,
military waters. Unfortunately, because the Japanese contaminated the water during the bombing of Pearl
Harbor, swimming there is still prohibited today. The civilians have their park here, where they are mostly
seen on weekends.
On our bikes, we took a curve to the right toward Pearl City. Under a tree providing massive shade, a
homeless man sat with his overflowing shopping cart.
Riding bikes in the blazing sun was simply brutal. Light, fluffy clouds scattered across the sky didn’t
make our journey much easier. Our helmets didn’t help much, either. Since there were no houses nearby,
we were fully exposed to the sun the entire time. In less than five minutes, we were drenched in sweat,
finally reaching the Hawaiian Electric power plant, which was also far off to our left.
We were thankful for every single palm tree that offered us a brief moment of shade. After about twenty
minutes on the bikes, we finally reached our tower in Pearl City. When we got up to the apartment, the
first thing I did was go to the phone. I dialed the number of people I had never seen in my life and didn’t
even know. They were relatives of my brother’s wife in Vancouver, Canada—her aunt, to be exact.
CHAPTER II: Flashback
The year before, when I had visited my older brother in Berlin Germany , we talked about our plans for
the upcoming year. Mischko and I intended to fly to Canada to perhaps buy an apartment in Vancouver.
Vancouver is a charming, modern, and beautiful city that attracts younger people. Since I always plan my
life well in advance, I dreamed of how wonderful it would be to own property in Vancouver. The reason
was that since we spend every winter in Hawaii, having an apartment in Canada would mean we wouldn’t
have to make the long trips back to Germany. With our own place in Canada, we could live six months
there and six months in the US, in Hawaii. That was my plan for the future when I retire.
When I told my brother last December that we were flying to Vancouver the following year, he mentioned
that his wife’s relative had invited him to Vancouver several times. Unfortunately, my brother couldn’t
afford the expensive tickets.
His wife’s aunt had emigrated forty-five years ago. She was married, had four children—three sons and a
daughter—and owned a large house. My brother told me that since we were flying to Vancouver anyway,
I could visit them and sleep there. They would surely be happy to host us. That way, I would save the
$110 per night in hotel costs we had paid during our last visit to Vancouver at the Best Western Motel.
That evening in December at my brother’s house, he called the relatives. They chatted for a while, and
then Bahrija—the aunt’s husband—invited my brother over once again. My brother politely thanked him
and explained that it wasn’t possible for him to fly over right now. Then he mentioned that I would likely
be coming to Vancouver the following year. When my brother said I was sitting right next to him, Bahrija
wanted to speak to me.
He seemed like a pleasant guy; at the very least, he sounded genuinely friendly, much like I usually am. I
remember when he heard we had already been to Vancouver a few times, he asked why we hadn’t visited
him and seemed slightly annoyed that we had paid for hotel rooms.
On our previous trips to Canada, I had known that my brother’s wife had an aunt in Vancouver. However, I
never had any desire to stay with anyone and be tied down. We planned our trips independently, did what
we wanted, followed our moods, and went wherever we pleased. Had I known he was as friendly as he
sounded on the phone, I definitely would have visited him and saved us the expensive hotel nights.
That evening in December, while on the phone at my brother’s, I promised him that the next time we were
in Vancouver, we would visit.
Over the next six months, we didn’t hear from each other again.
CHAPTER III: Continuation
It is the end of May. We were on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, in the Ocean Tower in Pearl City. We had
just parked our bikes at our tower, had the tickets to Vancouver, and had just walked into the apartment.
Now I called Vancouver. The phone rang, and after a while, I heard a woman’s voice. It was probably my
brother’s wife’s aunt. I greeted her, told her who I was, and where I was calling from. Then I let her know
that her husband had invited us to Vancouver and that we had just bought our tickets. We intended to visit
them.
Hearing this, she felt a bit ambushed, which I completely understood. She told me they were flying to
Europe in two days and would be gone for at least six weeks, and then she handed the phone to her
husband.
As much as I had surprised him, he surprised me even more with his friendliness. I expected him to
apologize and say they wouldn’t be there when we arrived. But no, he remained just as friendly as he had
been six months ago and told me the following: “Unfortunately, we are flying to Europe in two days and
staying for six weeks, but you are warmly invited and can stay in our house alone.”
I suggested that it was no problem, we would just stay in a hotel like we did a few years ago. We planned
to drive to Kelowna and Calgary anyway. When they returned, we could come back from Calgary and
meet up.
He wouldn’t hear of it and repeated himself. It was no problem at all, and we were more than welcome to
come. “Under no circumstances will you sleep in a hotel!” Then he said, “Here is my wife; she will
arrange the details with you.”
She was friendly, but sounded more serious, not quite as jovial as he was. First, she asked if we had
children. I told her we didn’t have kids and that she shouldn’t worry. We both take much better care of
other people’s property than our own.
She gave me the phone number of their son, Aljo—that’s what she called him. The day before we arrived,
we were supposed to contact him, and we would be picked up. It wasn’t necessary, but she insisted, and so
it was settled. Her son would give us the keys and show us where we would sleep.
I was shocked by the kindness of these lovely people who didn’t even know us. Because my parents had
been in Calgary in 1988, they were invited to a wedding in Vancouver back then. The relatives of my
brothers wife knew exactly who I was, and to them, taking me in seemed like the most natural thing in the
world.
At the end of our phone call that day, I thanked both of them for welcoming us into their home, and
wished Fatka—that was her name—and her husband Bahrija a wonderful vacation in Europe.
“Unbelievable, these people don’t even know us, and they are letting us sleep in their house,” I said to
Mitschiko.
Then I thought of my own uncle. Look at the difference. We were invited by my own uncle, and he treated
us like tourists, ripped us off, and took a good chunk of our money. My blood pressure spiked just
thinking about how I was treated by my own family. And here were complete strangers who had never
laid eyes on us, letting us stay for free. We agreed it would actually be even nicer with them not there. We
would have our peace, could wake up whenever we wanted, and do whatever we pleased.
It is the end of July. Bahrija and Fatka have been in Europe for about two weeks, while we are still in
Hawaii. Since we are arriving in Vancouver in two days, I dialed Fatka’s son’s number. A female voice
answered; she sounded quite young and had a peculiar dialect. They absolutely insisted on picking us up.
I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. She desperately wanted the flight number and the time. I
still tried to talk her out of it. On the phone, I reminded her of when we landed in Vancouver two years
ago around this time of year; the arrivals hall was packed with passengers. More than 2,000 passengers in
front of us and behind us. There was a massive crush at the airport because it was the cruise season for
Alaska.
She said she didn’t mind since they lived only 10 minutes from the airport. Somehow, I managed to
convince her that once we arrived and passed through customs, I would call her; then she could get in the
car and pick us up.
Two days later.
Two years ago, we flew via San Francisco, where we had a two-hour delay. This time, we had a red-eye
flight, direct to Vancouver. Early in the morning, around seven o’clock, we landed as planned. When we
walked into the arrivals hall, we were speechless. Our eyes went wide. The arrivals hall was empty!
“Look at this,” I said to Mischko. “I just remembered we landed on this exact date two years ago, but it
was lunchtime. Now, since it’s early in the morning and our plane is one of the first to land in Vancouver,
that must be the reason the customs hall is so empty.” We were lucky—a good sign for Vancouver and our
trip.
By half past seven, we already had our luggage. We decided to stay inside the hall for a bit longer. Birgit
(Mischko) called the son’s number; on the phone was the young woman with the unusual dialect again. I
explained to her where we were and told her we would wait outside.
CHAPTER IV: Waiting for Aida – Outside the Airport
When we stepped out of the airport terminal, we instantly felt the northern cold. It was barely eight
degrees Celsius (46°F) outside in the middle of summer! Pulling our suitcases, we crossed the one-way
street and stepped onto the sidewalk. Since we had flown in from Honolulu, we were lightly dressed in
shorts and T-shirts. We needed to put warmer clothes on as fast as possible. First, we moved away from
the exit, walking alone down the empty sidewalk against the flow of traffic on the one-way street.
To our right was a tall hedge fence overgrown with bushes. While the wheels of Mitschiko’s carry-on and
suitcase clattered loudly in front of me, I walked behind her, hearing the exact same noise trailing me. My
suitcase wheels were even louder because my bags were much larger and heavier.
We had packed dozens of gifts across all three suitcases. We had accounted for three sons, one daughter,
and the homeowners we didn’t even know. Then we thought of Heidi in Calgary, her family, and our
friend Gottfried in Kelowna, whom we also planned to visit. Add our clothes to the mix… the suitcases
were overflowing. As we dragged the luggage behind us, the crisp, cold air shaved against our bare thighs
and faces. After walking in the cold for about fifty meters from the exit, we stopped near a bench. We
were freezing and needed to throw on something warm immediately.
Behind our backs, beyond the plants and the high fence, cars drove in the other direction, signaling the
exit road. The cars couldn’t be seen, but they could be heard.
We positioned ourselves and our suitcases so that any approaching driver could see us from a distance. On
the phone, we had agreed on how we would recognize each other. When Aida—that was her name—
arrived, she would spot us instantly. At that moment, I remembered arriving here two years ago and being
picked up by my relative from Calgary who lived in Vancouver. We had also told her on the phone what
we looked like, our heights, and what we were wearing. She spotted us immediately amidst the chaos of
over two thousand passengers.
Even though Aida had no photos of us today, it shouldn’t be a problem for her to recognize us since we told her what we were wearing. She would be arriving in a red van. When we stopped, the first thing we did was pull the warmer clothes out of our carry-ons. Because it had been freezing on the plane overnight, we had thick sweatshirts and long sweatpants, while Mischko was already wearing her jeans. The carry-ons weren’t locked, so we quickly got to our warm clothes.
The cold occupied our immediate attention, but our thoughts were with the Canadians. Now we
understood why everyone from Canada loves flying to Hawaii. The flight to Hawaii takes only six to
seven hours. A stone’s throw. That’s how long it takes me to drive to Munich.
Barely arrived, we started complaining. If I had known it was this cold here, I would have flown to Berlin.
It’s warmer in Germany at this time of year. Of course, that was just a joke, even though it actually was
much warmer in Germany around this time. Our eyes were fixed on the bridge above, where cars drove
down from the highway. Every time a car came down, we hoped it was Aida. We had plenty of time to grumble about the weather here in Vancouver.
We guessed how cold it must be here in winter if it was this chilly on a summer morning. Our gaze
remained fixed on the bridge. Every time a car approached, we hoped Aida was already there because,
even with warmer clothes on, we were still freezing.
We looked back toward the terminal we had just exited. This allowed us to see everyone who came out
and went to a taxi or was picked up. Occasionally, a solitary passenger would stand there, and a minute or
two later, they’d be sitting in a car. We were expecting a red van. Ten minutes had long passed. Twenty
minutes later, a red van appeared, but there was no woman inside, and it drove right past us. We hoped
nothing had happened to Aida; if she lived no more than ten minutes from her apartment, she should have
been here ages ago. So, we kept waiting and freezing. We would have gladly waited inside the terminal if
we knew she was going to be late.
We knew the family was very religious, especially the parents. We were a bit nervous about that, but since
we would be living alone in the house while the parents were away, it didn’t bother us. We had decided to
tell them upfront that we weren’t very religious.
Another ten minutes… Nothing… People were still walking in and out; we were still standing there,
shivering. A few passengers came out, stood not far from us, and had the luck of being picked up right in
front of us! Inwardly, that stung a bit. Finally, at long last, a second red van came into sight, driving down
the road from the bridge toward us, flashing its high beams.
CHAPTER V: LIGHT SIGNAL IN SIGHT – Aida Arrives
Since she knew what we looked like, she had greeted us from afar by flashing her headlights. When she
first drove past us to park, we were surprised. Blonde hair—unexpected. We were expecting someone
with black hair; after all, we are southerners. When she got out, she spoke to us in English.
That suited us even better than if she had spoken to us in our native language. She was about as tall as me,
around thirty years old. We smiled and spoke very openly to each other, as if we had known one another
for years. When she opened her trunk, it was entirely full of sports gear belonging to her children.
Rearranging the car was necessary. Somehow, I managed to pack everything inside. The large van was
stuffed to the brim; I sat behind her, and Mitschiko sat next to the suitcases.
She apologized for the delay and told us her husband would be home soon as well. He had driven the kids
to school. After less than a ten-minute drive, she turned off the main road into a typical North American
residential subdivision. Everything here is made of wood. Each neighborhood had its own name. Because
I didn’t pay much attention, to this day I don’t know the name of the neighborhood she lived in, but it was
in Richmond.
Where they lived was something of a subsidized housing area, like social housing in Germany. We later
learned these apartments are only rented out to families. It was an entire block with a basement and two
upper floors. Cars were parked along the block; everyone had their own parking spot. The passageway
under the building was quite narrow, like a small tunnel. We walked past a door on our left. At the second
door, she stopped and said, “Here we are.” When she opened the apartment, you could tell at first glance that they were perfectly normal people, just like us. Typically American, with almost no hallway in the
entire apartment—which I actually find practical and smart.
When she closed the front door, we took off our shoes where several other pairs were already sitting.
Straight ahead from the front door, about two meters away, was a round kitchen table. The kitchen on the left side was quite small. A white, meter-high half-wall separated this round table from the kitchen. On the right side was a fabric-covered couch set up in the living room beneath personal photos. When I saw the picture of her and her husband, I immediately told her that he reminded me of a famous person. She was flattered but told me I shouldn’t say that in front of him, or it might go to his head. At that moment, I didn’t know exactly who he reminded me of, but he looked familiar.
CHAPTER VI: BREAKFAST
As soon as we were inside and had placed our shoes next to the dozen or so children’s shoes, Aida warmly
invited us to the kitchen table. Our breakfast reminded me of the food at the best hotel. Everything was
laid out on the table, and Mischko, of course, was thrilled to have fresh black coffee. The mystery was
solved: I now knew exactly why Aida had arrived little late at the airport. She had picked up fresh baked
goods for us from the bakery, driven them home, and only then came to get us. Naturally, I didn’t say a
word about her slight delay. We were just glad she picked us up at all. When we called from Hawaii to
announce our arrival, we had actually planned to rent a car and drive straight to her parents’ house. Elvis,
her husband, put a stop to that. He absolutely wanted to prevent his guests from spending unnecessary
money on a rental car.
I appreciated that. And since Elvis and Aida lived so close to the airport, his logic made perfect sense. We
really hadn’t expected to be served breakfast upon arriving in Vancouver. We thought she would drive us
straight to Aljo’s parents’ house.
While we were eating, the phone rang a few times. Sometimes it was her husband, sometimes the
neighbor.
When we finished breakfast, Aida showed us the rented, two-story apartment. The master bedroom was
on the top floor; the children’s rooms were below on the first floor. After the apartment tour, we sat
downstairs on the couch, which was covered with a white blanket.
After fifteen minutes, we heard someone at the front door. The moment the door opened, I instantly knew
who her husband in the photo hanging behind my head reminded me of. Whether I wanted to or not, the
words burst out of my mouth loudly: “Elvis Presley!”
A huge smile immediately spread across his face. Even though Aida had told me to suppress it and not
flatter him so it wouldn’t go to his head, that’s just how I am. It automatically and loudly escaped my
mouth. HE IS an original. “Woow!” I thought out loud again. I had to shake my head in disbelief because
I could hardly fathom that someone like this actually existed in our world! He seemed to enjoy my
admiration; whether he wanted to or not, he was inwardly pleased and chuckled softly in our direction.
The fact is, it blurted out of my mouth unintentionally in the very first second. He was around forty years
old. Compared to Aida, he had an incredible English slang… flawless. That tipped us off that he was born
here, whereas Aida, like me, was born in our homeland of Yugoslavia. Because he had such a pleasant
voice, the local accent, and looked exactly like Elvis Presley, it was an honor just to look at him and listen
to him. We conversed in English the entire time, which was fine by me, since I had gotten much better at
their language in recent years too.
Somehow, we gathered from Aida that he didn’t speak our native language well. Later, it turned out that
wasn’t true at all. She probably meant his accent. At the very least, I perfectly understood everything he
told us in my mother tongue. He spoke slightly brokenly, but everything was correct and accurate. Both of
them were so warm and incredibly friendly toward us that both Aida and Aljo won us over instantly.
From the very first contact with Aida at the airport and now with her husband, we felt as though we were
family. Even though we were two complete strangers to them, they did everything they could to make us
feel comfortable and wonderfully welcome. I hadn’t even experienced this level of warmth from my own
uncle and aunt.
I immediately took this family to my heart. Their warmth toward people they didn’t even know was
unbeatable. While we were sitting there, a neighbor, a Dutch woman, came over. While we had been
chatting with Aida and Elvis, this neighbor had called Aida several times to see if we had arrived yet.
Since this neighbor was Aida’s best neighbor, Aida had probably told her that she would be otherwise
occupied today picking up guests from Hawaii.
Since Aida and the neighbor were constantly hanging out together, the neighbor came in, simply out of
curiosity, to see who these two guests were. She was introduced to us as Jacky. She was a sixty-year-old
woman with a perpetual smile on her face, and she spoke and acted just as nicely and warmly as Elvis and
Aida.
We were told that Jacky kept an eye on and cared for the children while Aljo (her husband) and Aida were
at work. She was also paid for it. Aljo—or my ELVIS—was a tradesman, while Aida worked at Ikea.
They had three children: an eleven-year-old daughter, an eight-year-old son, and a four-year-old son
whom she called the “Troublemaker.” (That could have been my twin brother, because I suspect I was
exactly like that in my childhood). Later, we learned that he was indeed the one who caused the most
trouble at home, but he was also the sweetest of the three. We would meet the children later.
After chatting for a while, enough time had passed, and Aida and Elvis had their plans. We were supposed to be driven from here to downtown Vancouver. They absolutely insisted on going out with us that
evening. Elvis had taken the day off specifically for this. We were supposed to meet around five o’clock.
The neighbor would stay with the children. That was the agreed plan. Elvis got up to go pick up the kids
while Aida drove us into the city.
CHAPTER VII: Flashback
Two years ago, we were here in Vancouver and we were chauffeured through the streets by Adela, our
relative. When we arrived from Hawaii and Adela had booked a hotel for us and dropped us off there
because she had to rush to work immediately, we changed hotels four times in Vancouver in a single day.
After Adela left and we checked into the hotel, we carried our suitcases upstairs. The rooms were so
musty and spooky that I immediately said, “I am not sleeping here tonight.” The room was simply too
expensive and too dirty.
You can’t compare Canada and its hotels with US standard hotels. We realized that two years ago. Now,
on this trip, we were allowed to stay in a private house in Vancouver for the first time. As we drove, I
thought of my mother and father. They were in Calgary in 1988 staying with our relative—Adela’s father
—who had driven my parents all over Vancouver two years ago whenever he had the time.
Then, when my parents were nearby in Kelowna with Adelas parents, Aljo’s father invited them to a
wedding when one of the sons got married. My parents had praised the house. The wedding photos
flashed before my eyes during the drive. While Aljo’s parents were in Europe, fate decreed that Mischko
and I were allowed to live entirely alone in their beautiful house. Bahrija and Fatka, Aljo’s parents, were
glad someone would be in the house while they traveled in Europe. A lucky coincidence for both parties.
As Aida drove over the bridge leading to Main Street near the airport, we spotted a casino on our right.
Beautiful memories flooded back of the time two years ago when, walking out the door, I discovered one
of the largest slot machines.
An incredible story. Three days prior, while visiting a casino in Calgary with our relatives, I alone had lost
a whopping nine hundred dollars in just three hours.
We left Calgary with a massive loss. Then, three days later, after arriving here and preparing to fly back to
Hawaii the next morning, we decided on our last evening to try and cure our “sickness” one more time.
We sat down at the slot machines in this casino near the airport. Since Mischko always kept an eye on our
money and is a terrible loser, it was my duty to lose the money—something I had no trouble doing—while
she watched.
On that final evening two years ago, arriving from Calgary with that heavy loss, I lost another $400 right
here in this casino we were driving past.
In just two days of casino visits, I had lost my entire monthly salary—money I earned hauling heavy loads
like a mule up six flights of stairs on my back. I only realize how sick I am when it’s too late: the moment
my wallet is empty, and I feel like the poorest bastard in the world. I always feel that way for several days
afterward.
Desperate, disappointed, and dead tired from losing another four hundred, we walked down from the
upper floor, heading out to the street toward our car and then our hotel. At the exit doors stood a slot
machine taller than me. Out of pure desperation, I begged Mischko for another twenty dollars like a
panhandler. After just three spins, I hit free spins and won back the entire nine-hundred-dollar loss from
Calgary AND the four-hundred-dollar loss from that evening. We ended up leaving Vancouver with a few
extra dollars in our pockets.
Because it was a happy story and a pleasant event, I shared this shocking tale with Aida during the drive.
She asked us if we liked going to the casino. We told her it was our sickness. She laughed and said she
and her husband visited the casino frequently. Which meant they were just as sick as we were. “A
GAMBLING ADDICTION” IS WHAT I CALL OUR HABIT. Not only were they incredibly nice to us,
but now they also had gambling partners from Hawaii. At that moment, we all knew exactly where we
were going tonight. We were instantly in agreement, and the four of us laughed together as we left the
casino on our right behind us.
She drove down Main Street from the airport toward downtown. Main Street is lined with shops, and
electric streetcars run there, alongside several buses coming from downtown. After a brisk twenty-minute
drive, she turned right onto 22nd East Avenue. 22nd is a narrow street lined with privately owned homes.
Everything is as lush and green as you imagine Canada to be. Every house has a small yard out front.
After cruising about 200 meters, crossing the first small intersection, she drove past a school. After
another 200 meters, she turned left onto the next cross street, wrapping around the school. After she
turned left, private homes surrounded by tall green trees lined the right side, while on the left lay a sports
field covered in lush green grass, with two soccer goals set up on either end.
CHAPTER VIII: ARRIVALAT 22 EAST AVENUE
“We’re here,” Aida said, driving the length of the soccer field behind the goalposts. I recognized the house
instantly because I knew it from the photos my mother had shown me back in 1988. You could say it was
the most beautiful house on the street. As she turned the corner to the left, she stopped after about thirty
meters; the house was directly adjacent to the sports field. “Woow!” I thought out loud, thrilled. If I wake
up early in the morning, step onto the sidewalk, walk five meters across the street, I’m already at the
sports field. I’ve never had a sports field right under my nose in my entire life, even though I’ve played
sports my whole life.
It was a quiet residential area, a narrow street where only two cars could barely squeeze past each other.
Since these are all private homes, people park their cars in front of their own houses… The second half of
the street is left open just enough for cars to pass each other straight on.
Thoughts raced through my head… I can run my laps here every morning, go jogging. The grass looks so
fresh and lush… no wonder, we are up north here. The houses are built very close together. That was the
only flaw. They are built so that the distance from the house wall to the neighbor’s fence is no more than a
meter and a half, if even that. In front of the house, there was about four meters of space where the owners
had planted some flowers.
When we got out of the car… It smelled as if I were somewhere in a forest… Then the beautiful flowers in
front of the house… Compared to our visit to Vancouver two years ago, this time was completely different.
The exact opposite. Two years ago, the hotels were dirty and expensive; now we stood in front of a
beautiful house where we wouldn’t have to pay a single cent. It felt like compensation for the poor
hospitality of the Canadian hotel owners. Thank God there was still Best Western, the American motel
chain.
We walked across the sidewalk. The small front gate was something I had never seen before in my life; it
was painted white, about a meter high—knee height. Aida opened the gate from the inside. The front door
of the house was about two meters wide, maybe two and a half; you could open both the left and right
sides in an emergency. The top edge of the front door was rounded into a semicircle. The entrance was
situated under the balcony, right in the center of the house. On the first floor, large windows flanked the
left and right sides. Up top, the balcony had sliding glass doors situated directly above the entrance.
The ground floor of the house was divided into two basement apartments, meaning they had two tenant’s
downstairs. These tenants pay the mortgage for the house, as we found out later. When Aida opened the
large front door, the first thing that caught the eye was the curved staircase with a railing on the right side.
The stairs were covered with a carpet runner down the middle.
On the left side was a rack for shoes. Walking further left revealed a door, which we later discovered led
to the laundry room.
The wooden stairs were varnished in light brown.
At first glance, you could tell the homeowners were old-fashioned and practiced the Islamic faith, which
didn’t bother us at all. Since Mischko and I are not religious, that was our only internal concern. Luckily
for us, the homeowners—who were complete strangers to us—weren’t there.
When we got upstairs, I saw the large mirror. My older brother had pointed it out to me in the photos. The
difference from the photo was that the old Croatian flag no longer hung there. Where the flag used to
hang, there was a large crack. Once upstairs, Aida led us to the right. She mentioned that one room was
locked—the master bedroom belonging to the owners.
That was the first room when you come up and turn right back toward the street. The room is then on the
left side. Next, heading toward the street, there is a guest room on the left. Then the next one, which is
directly facing the street above the front door. On the right side, practically opposite the second guest
room Aida showed us, was the room with the balcony.
We could choose where we wanted to sleep. On top of everything else, we thought internally. Not only are
we sleeping here for free, but we also have the choice to pick a room to our liking. Three to choose from.
Actually, all three rooms faced the street, except the middle room had a narrow balcony. Mischko chose
the room with the balcony; I took the room on the left side, right next to the bathroom. That way, I
wouldn’t have far to walk if I had to go.
So, for the first time, we also had the opportunity not to sleep in the same bed. Because I often get up
during the night, we decided this was best so I wouldn’t wake Mischko.
Afterward, Aida showed us the kitchen and the living room. When you come up the stairs from the street,
these two rooms are on the left side. Beneath the living room, Aida’s parents-in-law—who were currently
back in our homeland in Europe—rented out the lower rooms. The large living room was decorated to
their taste. The living room was truly spacious. I would guess the kitchen is located in the back part of the
house. It takes up a third of the upper floor, making the kitchen quite large as well. In the living room,
besides a three-seater couch, there was a table and an armchair opposite it. In front of the half-wall
separating the living room and kitchen stood a large dining table right against the kitchen wall, surrounded
by six chairs.
When we walked into the kitchen, there was another table with six more chairs. From the kitchen, we
stepped out onto a giant balcony at the back of the house, where several fig trees hung heavy with fruit.
We were surprised. I knew Vancouver’s climate was mild, but seeing a fig tree here was a beautiful
surprise. The balcony spanned the entire width of the house.
While the figs were planted on the right side of the house, two large plum trees had grown over the
balcony. Everything happened on this wooden terrace. A few meters into the backyard stood a shed and a
garage. The neighbor on the left side, next to Bahrija’s plum trees, had a terrace of the exact same size. In
the coming days, we would see and hear their Chinese-speaking neighbor.
Basically, sitting on the terrace was like wanting to have a conversation with your neighbor. You really
needed to be on good terms with the neighbors here, I thought. There was at most a meter of space on
either side of the house before hitting the fence. Hence the cramped feeling. To get back inside from the
balcony, a door to the right led to the kitchen, and a door to the left led to a smaller room with a TV, where
a couch sat next to the entrance door. Opposite the couch, a TV was mounted on the wall. This was a
lounge room for anyone who couldn’t agree on what to watch in the main living room.
CHAPTER IX: WE ARE ALONE
Once Aida was done, we said our goodbyes. She planned to be at our place around five, then we would go
out to eat together and head to the casino! After Aida left, we unpacked the things we wanted to wear,
followed by all the gifts. Aida had taken her gifts right away. We simply wanted to get rid of them
immediately.
We looked around the house in admiration. We thought back to our visit two years ago. Even our first visit
to Canada in 1993 had gone exactly like the one two years ago. The accommodations were expensive and
not clean.
I stood on the balcony for a while, looking across the street. It was so quiet; not a soul was visible on the
sports field. The sports field was barely ten meters away from me.
I thought about the coming days. It can only be beautiful. The northern freshness in the air, roses
blooming beneath me on both sides. On the other side, beyond the grassy area of the soccer field to the
right, you could see a building. That might be the school, as you could also see a children’s playground
there. We made our beds, took showers, and it wasn’t long before Aida returned to pick us up. She was
incredibly friendly; it wasn’t the strict Muslim greeting we had feared. She spoke English. After a twenty-
minute drive, we passed the airport again, then over the bridge to our left, I saw the casino where I had
recouped my lost money from Calgary.
We could tell she was looking forward to tonight and our casino visit because, as she told us, she and her
husband loved playing the slots just as much as we did. In the car, she told us her Dutch neighbor had
been jealous of the gifts. We promised to give her some too, but told Aida not to tell her, so it would
remain a surprise. (Jacky, as she was called) would be even happier if she wasn’t expecting anything. Aida
turned left off the main road into a residential area that, in Germany, we would call a social housing
project.
It was typically American, as struck me once again—or Canadian. Everything was built of wood, painted
gray and white. The roofs weren’t made of tiles, but shingles. A type of tar-paper shingle. It looks like
stone, but it’s tar paper.
For the second time that day, we arrived at their apartment in Richmond. Upon arriving, we saw the Dutch
woman we had met that morning; her real name was Jacobe. While Aida had gone to pick us up, Jacky
had been home with the children. When the manager of this housing complex is away, Jacky acts as his
substitute, and she earns extra money babysitting. Elvis, Aida’s husband, was waiting for us. We chatted
for a while until Aida finished getting ready. As we walked out, Jacobe wished us a nice evening and
stayed behind with the children.
Once in the car, Mischko and I expressed our desire to treat Aida and Elvis to dinner. Elvis and Aida chose
White Spot, a place unknown to us until then. From what they said, it was one of the most widespread and
famous restaurant chains, one we would likely visit again in the coming days. After less than a five-
minute drive, we pulled up to a flat building that looked like a restaurant from the outside. Large glass
windows.
We ordered salads with white dressing, hamburgers, and fries. You certainly couldn’t complain about the
taste. Aida seemed to know the waitress.
After dinner, we headed to the casino where I had won $1,400 on the last day two years ago. Passing by
the largest machine near the entrance, I fondly remembered the moment and told Aljo and Aida exactly
how it happened. We had a great evening. Everyone played for themselves. Mischko, my wife, had her
favorite machines, Aida had hers, Elvis had his, and I had mine. When we headed home, I was the only
one who had won $60.
Elvis drove us home to 22 East Avenue. Before saying goodbye, we asked Elvis and Aida not to worry
about us anymore; we weren’t little children, we spoke English, we had been to Vancouver twice before,
and we really didn’t want to get on their nerves. If they had time, we would love to meet up and go back to
the casino or a restaurant, but we were just happy to be in Vancouver and didn’t want to bother anyone.
They understood. We said our goodbyes, and they drove off into the dark night while we locked the door
behind us and walked up the wooden stairs in the dark for the first time. It was a strange feeling—the
large house, empty, just the two of us up here alone. When we got upstairs, the light in the kitchen was on;
the owners had probably left it on so it would look like someone was always home. We do the exact same
thing in Berlin when we travel; it’s supposed to look like someone is always there, even though they had
been in Europe for a month.
At the top of the stairs, we had to turn 180 degrees to the right to walk straight toward our rooms, past our
bathroom and the empty guest room we didn’t want to use.
After walking a good six meters to reach the rooms, Mischko had to turn right while I walked straight into
mine. They were essentially side-by-side rooms. The third room on this street-facing side was Bahrija and
Fatka’s living room.
CHAPTER X: A GUARD DOG
Like always, I just couldn’t fall asleep right away.
After we said good night, I tried to concentrate and sleep. Since I can never fall asleep quickly anyway, I
thought about the two of them, Elvis and Aida, then the house, and how lucky we were to have found this
place.
What lucky bastards we are. Getting to sleep here for free for a month, in a beautiful house. Magnificent…
Somehow, just as I tried to focus, I kept hearing noises. It was a kind of cracking, as if ghosts were in the
house. I got up; listening to my left, Mischko was in a deep sleep. I walked slowly through the darkness
toward the kitchen. On my left was the railing preventing a fall down the stairs.
The tiny night stair-lights glowed softly like a dimmer switch. Since I don’t believe in ghosts, I feared
someone was actually in the house. Looking down to my left through the round wooden spindles of the
railing, I could see every single step. I walked into the kitchen, where the light was still burning just as the
owners had left it. After inspecting the small room with the little TV next to the kitchen, I walked down
the stairs and checked the laundry room. The front door was locked. Nothing. Relieved, I walked back up
the stairs and was back in bed shortly after.
About five minutes later, I heard the cracking somewhere in the house again. I had no peace; I had to get
up again. I walked into Mischko’s room. She was asleep; the balcony door was locked. The master
bedroom was locked. Tiptoeing around, I heard the cracking again in the dark silence. After inspecting the
house, a second time and finding no one, I convinced myself it was just the wood settling. What I didn’t
know: During the day, the sun beats down and heats the house from the inside. The temperature rises. In
the evening, it cools down, and that’s why the wood cracks—the wood is working. Once back in bed, I
eventually grew so tired that I managed to fall asleep.
The next morning, the sun shined straight into the bedroom. I pushed the blinds aside and looked at the
lush green grass of the soccer field across the street.
My God, it’s so quiet and beautiful here. If I lived here, I would get up every morning, run my laps on the
sports field, and then jump in the shower. Then make breakfast. I sneaked out of the house in my sports
gear on this very first morning, crossed the street, and was already on the sports field. There was a bench
on the right side with some bars for doing pull-ups. I jogged over there, dropped my towel and something
to drink. After a light warm-up, I started running. The morning air was different than in Hawaii.
I actually preferred the Hawaiian air, probably because it’s warmer. The cold stung my nose; it was almost
difficult to breathe. I was just as cold as the day before when we waited for Aida at the airport.
Occasionally, a resident would walk by with their dog for its necessary early morning walk. The poop was
collected. It was simply peaceful. Even though Main Street was only a 5-minute walk away, you couldn’t
hear the cars and the noise from the main road. I trained on this first day, taking a few breaks. Sat
sweating on the bench, wiped the sweat away, and looked across to the school. It was the back of the
school, but there were no children. What day could it be today? I didn’t even know. Maybe the weekend? I
only knew the date we were supposed to fly to Vancouver, but whether it was Monday or Saturday, I had
no idea at the moment.
Eventually, after an hour and a half of running, pull-ups, and push-ups, I was exhausted and ready for
breakfast. When I returned, Mitschiko was still fast asleep in her room. She had a really cozy bed. Tucked
in like a princess; it was a bed straight out of a fairy tale. Our bed in Berlin is the largest and most modern
we could find; this bed is smaller, but it looks like a fairy tale bed, perfectly suited for my princess.
Once I finished showering, I walked past her room. The door had been open all night. We had decided to
sleep with the doors open.
I let her keep sleeping while I went out onto the balcony at the back of the house. Eventually, maybe an
hour later, I checked her room again and saw she was still in bed, though she seemed awake. As I
approached, she looked at me… “I slept so beautifully…” she said.
I told her I had been awake for more than three hours and what I had been up to. Aida had already made
sure we wouldn’t starve when we woke up, providing plenty for breakfast. While we ate, I recounted my
night and how I thought someone might have been in the house. She hadn’t heard a thing. No wonder;
every time I checked on her, she was out cold.
CHAPTER XI: OUR FIRST DAY
On this first day, after breakfast, we headed out. It was like paradise, still so quiet around the house and on
the sports field. We decided to first head right toward Main Street. Barely on the street, I said… “Mischko,
we slept at the Best Western on 10th Avenue two years ago… remember? Ten streets down from here…
exactly… on the right side on 10th Avenue… Come on, let’s go say hi to Sunny.” Sunny was a Canadian of
Indian descent… he worked there as a manager. Two years ago, when the manager booked us a room at the
Best Western for seven days, he wasn’t there the next morning. It was Sunny, the young Indian guy. He
was sort of a deputy to the main manager. We walked right, toward the main road, Main Street.
After about a ten-minute walk, Main Street slopes downward, a slight decline. After another ten minutes,
we reached 10th Avenue and had to walk uphill for a few minutes. When we reached the Best Western and
walked in, Sunny wasn’t there at first. The employee said he would be right back. Five minutes later, the
elevator came down, the doors opened… When he saw us, all three of us beamed with joy. It was nice to
see each other again. He thought we had booked with him again. When we told him about our stroke of
luck, he couldn’t believe it and was naturally thrilled for us…
The Best Western here in Burnaby is a district of Vancouver in Uptown. This motel was always well-
booked, especially now that the cruise season to Alaska was starting. Summertime… when it’s not quite so
freezing up in the far north. As we were about to say goodbye, he insisted we get together; he wanted to
take us out to eat. We agreed to call him when the time came. We had a few things to take care of…
Mischko wanted to look for a job, and we had received info that there was a six-story library downtown
where everyone could use the internet for free. Something like that was impossible in Germany at the time
we were in Vancouver.
Barely leaving the Best Western, we walked right, past the Buy Low Food Store, over the flat roof that
served as a parking lot for customers. Underneath the flat roof was a sort of mall with many small shops,
something you couldn’t guess from the outside. Standing in the parking lot, the mountains instantly caught
your eye not far from Vancouver. …the Whistler Mountains, where the Olympics were scheduled to take
place in two years.
I absolutely wanted to take some photos: snow on the peaks in the summertime, early July. Unusual for us
Europeans from Berlin, but simply beautiful to see. The air was incredibly fresh. We were in shorts, T-
shirts, and our all-weather sports jackets. Walking right onto Main Street, we looked down toward
downtown. Still as beautiful as two years ago, just with more construction cranes. Over twenty Canadian
flags fluttered at a car dealership. Canada is different from the US, yet similar. It feels more European, but
somehow different.
We spent the first day at the library on the internet. We ate at a Mexican restaurant, then visited the
German restaurant we had been to two years ago with Adela and her friend. We told the waitress we had
been there two years ago and that we really enjoyed the food. When we mentioned that Mischko was
looking for work here, the waitress told her she could work at the restaurant.
Once outside, I told Mischko I would never allow her to work in a restaurant. The pitchers are so large,
the beer so heavy. That’s not a job for someone who previously worked in a bank. Days passed. Aljo and
Aida were busy with their own lives. They worked, drove their kids to school. After school, the kids went
on to private tutoring, a type of schooling we didn’t have in Berlin. After school, all the material was
reviewed again by other teachers, keeping the kids constantly occupied with barely any time to cause
mischief.
We were alone here on 22nd Avenue. Every morning was the same. Workout, breakfast, and off to the city,
straight down Main Street to the right. In half an hour we were downtown, where our bank, HSBC, was
located in Yaletown. Before reaching Yaletown, we had to pass the Edgewater Casino, which sat right on
the water in the bay. Heading home in the evenings, we would stop in for a few hours and play until we
were tired.
In the second week, we met up with Sunny from the Best Western Hotel; there was a small restaurant right
next door. He insisted on treating us. All three of us were happy to see each other again and promised to
meet up when we got back from Calgary, which we did—although that time, the treat was on us.
In the time that followed, we were picked up several times by Aida and Aljo, allowing us to spend time
with their children as well. We played soccer during their free time and went to ice hockey when the kids
had practice.
In Richmond, we were invited to a BBQ and spent time with their neighbor, Jacky, who couldn’t believe
she was getting gifts from Hawaii from us too. When we wanted to take the bus back, there was no
chance. They insisted on driving us.
CHAPTER XII: CASINO STORY
When Aida drove us home from Richmond for the second time, we again had to pass the airport casino,
which is directly under the bridge on Main Street. Jacky tagged along so Aida wouldn’t have to drive
home alone at midnight. The first time Aida drove us home, we had talked about our gambling addiction.
She seemed genuinely hooked, constantly feeding her last dollars into the machines. During our
conversation, I told her we had no chance at the slot machines.
Since she had children, I suggested it would be better for her to save the money she put in and give it to
her kids, rather than enriching the wealthy casino owners. I told her I had managed to convince some
people to stop smoking through our talks, and the same applied to cigarettes. First, she was harming
herself; second, she had children. She was making strangers rich.
The first time she drove us home, I promised to invite her out. That evening, we had the opportunity to
invite both her and Jacky to the casino, even though her neighbor tagged along. I gave Aida a hundred-
dollar bill and Jacky fifty dollars. Mischko and I gambled with a hundred each. “But please, not a word to
my ELVIS,” she requested. They promised to keep it a secret. Jacky seemed addicted to gambling as well,
but unfortunately, she didn’t have the money for it. After about two hours, we had lost all our money and
drove home. We didn’t see each other for the next few days until we received a phone call.
CHAPTER XIII: CANADA DAY – PART 1
It was a holiday, Father’s Day in Canada. Elvis and Aida wanted to do something special with us. When
Aida got off work, she came to pick us up around four in the afternoon.
When we arrived in Richmond where Aida lives, Elvis had already come home from work and was
playing video games with the kids on the big TV. Fifteen minutes later, Jacky arrived to look after the kids
while we left the apartment. Once in their red van, we headed to their favorite restaurant, where Aida
knew a waitress. After we finished dinner, they absolutely wanted to do something else with us. We had
three options.
Our local option downtown was Edgewater Casino, a 45-minute walk from the house where we were
staying with Aljo’s parents. The second casino was located between their rented three-bedroom apartment
and the house where we were staying—practically near the airport. The third casino was further from
Richmond, close to the US border. Since Elvis wanted to do us a favor, he let us decide where we wanted
to gamble. Since I had enjoyed the Starlight Casino the first time, we headed there, staying in Richmond.
After about a twenty-minute drive through the darkness and no man’s land, we reached the Starlight
Casino just before the border. Starlight was equipped with the latest slot machines. The decor and carpet
were all brand new, reminding me a bit of Las Vegas. Once inside the casino, we split up. Each of us went
to find the machine we wanted to play.
Mischko and I set a limit of $100 each. Elvis and Aida set a $60 limit each. I did okay at first, but if you
stay at one machine for too long, you always end up the loser—I knew that much. In the thousands of
hours I had spent in casinos, I had never seen anyone hit a massive jackpot.
I was playing a machine featuring dragons, monsters, and skulls. I was doing alright, gradually building
up to an eighty-dollar profit. After about two hours, Mischko came over to me and said there was a
machine where she was playing that I would definitely like. It featured Tom Cruise, and the machine was
called “Top Gun.” Top Gun was my favorite movie; one I had seen several times.
What I love about the movie is the sound of the military jets. So, I cashed out my money and walked over
to the machine with Mischko. It was right next to Mischko’s, so we sat together in the new leather chairs. I
had barely started playing when Elvis came up from behind, grabbed me, and said, “You shouldn’t play
that machine, it already took all of Aida’s money.” That meant Aida was broke.
I told him it was fine; I just wanted to enjoy the airplane sounds for a bit. He watched what I was doing
for a while, then left. I bet small. After about ten minutes, I was up about forty dollars. The moment I
increased my bets, the software changed its program, and I lost the forty dollars I had just won. Mischko
was playing next to me; that was why she had called me over in the first place. As soon as I started losing,
I started cursing.
Mischko tried to calm me down. She reminded me of what I always told her: we have no chance of
winning at the machines, and now I was getting angry. In addition to the $80 profit I had won at the ghost
machine, I also lost my initial hundred. I just stayed in the chair, watching her.
Seeing that I had no money left, Mischko felt sorry for me and gave me twenty dollars to start, as she still
had her hundred. I lost her twenty, then another twenty of hers—that was forty of her dollars gone. She
tried to save the evening, but no chance. I lost all of her money too. It was a disaster, and now she was in a
terrible mood as well.
All the remaining money we had was either locked in her bag or at home. That’s the only right way to do
it; it was the only way we avoided losing everything. We were both crushed, in a foul mood, walking
through the casino until we finally found our two friends. Normally, on our previous visits to Vancouver, I
was the only one who walked out of the casino a winner.
Mischko and Elvis had lost too, but they usually still had half their money in their pockets. Aida was the
only one who had lost everything. But tonight, I simply went too far, and I was broke. This evening, Elvis
was the only one who still had money in his machine. After a while, he let Aida play his machine. Barely
ten minutes after taking over, she had lost everything. Elvis laughed: “It’s always the same. We go to the
casino, and she always loses hers and my money.” When we got in the car, Elvis told us with a grin that he
still had forty dollars left. We were glad that at least one of us hadn’t dumped everything into the slots.
I cast a brief, glaring look at myself as the biggest loser, having blown both my and Mischko’s eighty
dollars. The second biggest loser was Aida, while Mischko had only lost twenty dollars. I had ruined
Mischko’s mood with my cursing, and of course, because I had lost her money. To think I was actually
having fun at my machine before she called me over. If she hadn’t called me over, none of this probably
would have happened, and everything would have been fine.
While Elvis drove the red van—the only car on the road—through the darkness and no man’s land, the
blower or AC was running. I was sitting behind Elvis, next to Mischko. When we were halfway between
the casino and their apartment, I felt a tickle in my throat. Gradually, I started feeling short of breath,
struggling to get air into my lungs. Mischko noticed and yelled at Elvis to stop the car. He seemed to think
she was joking until Mischko screamed at him a second time.
CHAPTER XIV: CANADA DAY – PART 2
“Stop the car!”
I couldn’t breathe. I slid the side door open, jumped out into the dark, and gasped for fresh air and breath.
My stomach was cramping. After about ten seconds of agonizing groaning, pressing both hands against
my stomach, my throat suddenly unclenched, and I could breathe again.
Because it was past midnight and freezing cold, Elvis had turned on the heater. The stirred-up dust had
caused such severe irritation that I couldn’t get any air. All the smoke dust had swirled through the car, and
I just couldn’t handle it. Had he not stopped the car, I probably would have died.
After this attack, the shock, and the casino disaster, he drove the remaining thirty minutes without the
heater on until he turned right onto 22nd East Avenue.
We said goodbye to the two of them as they drove home. I was still furious with myself for losing
Mischko’s money. It gnawed at me internally. She had been in a good mood the whole time until I started
cursing and gambling away her cash. Actually, it was her own fault. She wanted to do me a favor, and
that’s how it all started. I had been having fun beforehand, but shortly after she called me over, things
went downhill. I was still replaying everything that had happened in my mind.
I hadn’t played the way I usually play in the casino. Patiently, with small bets. Then throwing in a large
bet, then small again. Because I had ruined Mischko’s mood, I wanted to make up for it and suggested we
walk to the Edgewater Casino.
I could tell from her face she was in a bad mood, and she refused.
I promised her I would be careful with our money; she didn’t need to worry about me losing everything.
She knows it never stops there once I start losing, and she refused a second time, telling me she was tired
and didn’t feel like it anymore. I told her: “Fine, if you’re not going, then I want the money for myself. I
want a hundred dollars.” She was furious and threw the wallet with all the money onto the bed. I counted
the cash again. We had $3000 in cash. I took out just one-hundred-dollar bill while she went to the
bathroom to brush her teeth. Something stirred inside me, and I desperately wanted to have real fun
tonight. I wanted to make things right, though I hardly believed it was possible myself. I just wanted to
have fun.
I changed my T-shirt, wished her a good night, and walked down the semi-circular stairs. After locking the
front door and stepping onto the sidewalk, I turned around and looked up at the room where she was
sleeping. It was dark. The same heavy clouds covered the moon. Only a small streetlamp glowed at the
first intersection, about fifty meters from Main Street. Although I hadn’t seen anyone in this neighborhood
during the day—except when the school kids were out on the field, there was no one around but parents—
and even though it was now dark and dead silent as I walked down 21st East Avenue, I didn’t feel uneasy
in the darkness.
To my left, in the dark, was the unlit soccer field; to my right, houses where the lights had long been
turned off. Above my head was a dark sky, and the air was quite chilly on my legs. At the end of the
soccer field was a small streetlight where a side street branched off to the right. I crossed the dimly lit
intersection; once on the other side of the street, it was total darkness again. I just couldn’t stop thinking
about how I managed to ruin the evening. Replaying the whole evening and how it unfolded in my mind, I
felt absolutely miserable because I had lost all her money. If it had just been my hundred, I wouldn’t have
cared. In that moment, I thought about truly poor people and how they must feel being poor.
I wasn’t actually that poor, thinking of the $3000 cash I had at home and all the credit cards. But that
thought didn’t change my feelings. I just felt miserable. Embraced by total darkness and deeply depressed,
I felt like a poor bastard. Finally, I reached Main Street. Just the first glance at the lights of this vibrant
street changed my mood, and I started feeling alive again.
Down the middle of this wide, four-lane main road ran the streetcar tracks. I walked right along the
sidewalk, staying on the north side, the same side as the house where we were staying. I had about a forty-
five-minute walk ahead of me. It’s a unique feeling to be completely alone in a foreign city after midnight.
It was late, and I wasn’t surprised to see many drunk people out and about, especially on Canadian
Father’s Day. Sometimes they were in groups, sometimes just lone pedestrians. It seemed like everyone
had been drinking tonight except me. Whenever I saw groups of pedestrians in the distance, I crossed the
street and walked on the opposite sidewalk to avoid being spoken to.
Every time the streetcar drove past me, I was fascinated. Just the red paint job thrilled me. My ears had
already accepted the screeching of the steel wheels on the tracks before stopping at the stations as totally
normal.
CHAPTER XV: CANADA DAY – PART 3
Between 21st East Avenue and 12th East Avenue lies a flat stretch. There are several bars here, where
young people sat drinking both inside and outside on the small patios. Walking past the bars, you could
hear music, but it was contained enough not to be too loud outside. From 11th East Avenue onward, the
road slopes downhill. We had walked this path often in the past few days, so I knew every shop. Besides,
we knew the street from our earlier visit to Vancouver when we slept at the Best Western on 10th East
Avenue.
Here on Main Street, this lively road, I was already so distracted that I walked with a completely different
mindset. The experience and the lost money at Starlight faded into the distance. The depression had
almost vanished. When I saw the first police car, I suddenly snapped awake and spoke to myself
internally: My God, what am I doing here? It’s past midnight, I’m walking the streets in a foreign country,
and I don’t have an ID or a passport! Am I crazy? After another five minutes, I saw several police cars in
the distance. I crossed the street again so I wouldn’t have to walk past them.
Because Main Street is four lanes wide and I was on the other side, I saw from a distance a group of
younger people, probably drunk, arguing with the police. There wasn’t a single other person in sight. I was
the only pedestrian on the south sidewalk of Main Street. Who knows what they had done. Unnoticed,
without the police casting a single glance my way, I continued on my path. It was about thirty minutes
past midnight.
Now I was preoccupied again with the thought: what if the police stopped me right now? I couldn’t
identify myself, no passport, no ID. I didn’t even know the last name of the family whose house we were
staying in. I knew where the house was, but I didn’t know the house number. I didn’t even know the
house’s phone number.
Because Aida had picked us up from the airport and dropped us off in front of the house, there was no
need to know the number. I thought to myself, if the police stopped me right now, they would arrest me on
the spot, assuming I was in Canada illegally. After 10th Avenue and ten minutes of walking, I was back on
the flat stretch, with about fifteen minutes left to Edgewater Casino. This casino is built on the Pacific
waters in a bay. There was a side entrance by the water. The main entrance is accessible from the
expressway. This expressway leads to the highway, connecting to Pacific Boulevard in Yaletown, where
our bank was located.
In this area where the casino stood, there were neither residential buildings nor any shops. Between the
main entrance and the road was an open space of about thirty meters. When the doors opened that evening
—or rather, early morning—my eyes widened in surprise. It was pure chaos inside. I had never seen so
many people in a casino in my entire life. The first thing I did was take my hundred-dollar bill out of my
shorts pocket and head to the cashier, asking for twenty-dollar bills.
A long-haired woman around my age handed me the bills and wished me good luck. What I love about
casinos is playing my favorite machines. But because the casino was so packed and I couldn’t see past the
crowd toward the area where I usually liked to play, I had no chance of getting near my preferred
machines. So, I took the very first machine that was available.
In that moment, I was just glad to have found an open machine—one that nobody was playing. It was a
one-cent minimum bet machine. The machine featured symbols involving an open golden treasure chest
coast. The gold sparkled under the casino’s interior lights. I had never played a machine like this before
because the graphics had somehow seemed unappealing to me.
Playing a one-cent machine means pressing the button and spinning costs one cent per line. I could bet a
maximum of five cents per line. Since the machine has thirty lines, the maximum bet would be one dollar
and fifty cents. A dollar fifty is quite a lot when you consider how quickly you can lose that money.
I grabbed the round black leather bar stool and sat down, preparing for a long session. I fed the twenty
dollars into the machine. My first spin was for one cent on just one line. I repeated this one-cent bet at
least six times. Meanwhile, I checked to see if I would have missed any big payouts had I played the max
bet. Now I increased the lines, playing all thirty lines at one cent each. I won 45 cents, meaning I was up
fifteen cents that spin. I dropped back down to one line and one cent, watching several times to see what I
would have won with a max bet.
I wouldn’t have won anything. After about ten spins, I increased the lines and the bet to thirty lines at two
cents each (60 cents). Nothing again! After about five minutes of alternating between one line and thirty
lines, I suddenly maxed out the bet to thirty lines at five cents per line. My first bet of one dollar and fifty
cents a spin! Max bet. I glanced at the crowd for a moment to see if I could perhaps catch my favorite
machine opening up. When I turned my head back, the machine had started counting up. Since the
machine had already counted up several times in the past few minutes, I didn’t think much of it.
I looked at the symbols and saw three treasure chests. Two on the line and one half-below the line where
the others were. Music started playing! I didn’t think anything of it. Since there are five treasure chests
possible, I figured I couldn’t have won much. The music played, and after about a minute, I had 1000
cents. I was happy to have won ten dollars. At that moment, I thought the machine would stop playing and
counting.
I looked at the machine to see what I had hit, but since Mischko was usually the one explaining to me
what the symbol layouts meant when I won, I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It didn’t stop at a thousand
cents; the music continued, and the machine kept counting relentlessly. 1001… 1002… and so on. When it
reached 2000, I expected it to stop counting and the music to end. I was thrilled at that moment to have
won twenty dollars.
But it didn’t stop at 2000 cents; the music continued, and the numbers kept rising. I was at 3000. Now I
was genuinely excited to have thirty dollars. The machine kept counting, reaching forty, and nearly hitting
the fifty mark… I was certain it would stop at $50. When it crossed 5000 cents, I grew curious and looked
at the symbols again. I still only saw three treasure chests. Now it was heading toward 6000. Now I was
thinking and hoping the machine would reach 10,000 cents. That would mean I had made up for
Mischko’s hundred-dollar bill.
CHAPTER XVI: CANADA DAY – PART 4
The machine actually reached the ten-thousand mark. Now it will definitely stop counting. Think again,
Adam! The counter crossed the 10,000 mark. Now I was even more curious. The music was so loud,
everything around me was rumbling, and the other machines were chiming with different sounds. Clueless
and not knowing why the machine was counting for so long, I turned around and saw that people had
started to stand and watch my machine.
Over the years, I’ve learned that slot machines are designed for entertainment. But because human nature
is greedy for money, the machines are programmed so that once you increase your bets, they empty your
pockets. It has happened to me so many times in the past: the moment I raised my bet, the software
automatically switched programs, and I found myself on a losing streak. The same thing happened earlier
tonight at Starlight, where I lost Mischko’s money, confirming my suspicion.
Only now did I slowly start to celebrate, because the machine, climbing from 11,000 to 12,000 cents, was
heading toward 15,000 cents. Since I didn’t know what exactly I had won, I was absolutely certain it
would stop at 15,000 cents. The machine kept counting, crossed 15,000, and kept going. Now I was sure:
It’ll definitely hit 20,000, I told myself, and then I’ll have made back the two hundred dollars I lost earlier.
Only now was I truly happy.
Now I was guaranteed to have a great night. I could afford to lose this hundred and still have two hundred
left on me. Mischko would definitely be thrilled that I hadn’t lost the third hundred. Losing that much
money in one night is a big deal for us. At that moment, I thought of Mischko. She was asleep right now.
It would be wonderful if she were here with me. The machine hit 20,000 cents and crossed that, TOO 🙂
Now I was truly speechless. I looked around and saw even more people behind me, pointing their fingers
up, signaling I had done well. They were happy for me. Then it hit 30,000 cents. I was doing the math in
my head. Woow. Now I was up three hundred, plus the eighty I still had in my pocket. The counter
bumped my winnings to 40,000 cents. And it kept going. My God, now I was certain the machine would
reach 50,000 cents. My machine’s music was so loud it was drawing a crowd, and sure enough, more and
more people gathered behind my back.
Now I was genuinely speechless. I had been 100 percent sure the machine would stop at 50,000 cents. At
that moment, I had $500 sitting in the machine. It felt like a dream. At Starlight Casino, I was the biggest
loser, and now I was sitting here, beaming like a little kid. I had actually recouped the money and was
sitting at five hundred dollars.
I thought of Mischko again. She would be so thrilled if she were here with me. If I had a phone, I would
call her. Who knows if she would have heard it, since the phone was in the small room by the balcony. I
turned around again and saw the crowd behind me cheering and happily watching. I laughed joyfully back
at them. Feeling helpless, I said I didn’t even know what I had won, and a man from the crowd stepped
forward, pointing his finger down at the two “Wilds.”
Only then did I understand. The Wilds acted just like the treasure chests. At that moment, the machine
crossed the 50,000 mark and kept going. The number climbed to sixty thousand. I now had six hundred
dollars. Since the Wilds weren’t all perfectly aligned on the line, I kept expecting the machine to stop
counting at every round number. At every round milestone, I thought to myself: Six hundred dollars. Then
it crossed six hundred dollars and kept counting. The music continued playing cheerfully, loud enough for
everyone in the casino to hear.
I watched every single digit and still couldn’t believe what was happening. It felt like a dream, and I
thought of Mischko. A shame she isn’t here. But she’ll be happy. I was absolutely not going to gamble this
money away again tonight. At eighty thousand, I was at eight hundred dollars. The machine reached
90,000 cents, and then 100,000 cents. Internally, I was now hoping this wasn’t the end either. At exactly
100,000 cents, the machine’s music grew incredibly loud and began playing its grand celebratory fanfare.
That was the signal that the counting was over. Bummer, I thought. I would have loved to keep watching
it count even higher past 100,000 cents.
CHAPTER XVIII: CANADA DAY – PART 5
I took a deep breath and looked around to see if any employee had noticed and was coming over to pay
me out. Given the massive crowd and the loud chiming of all the other machines, that was unlikely, and
nothing happened. A few people were still standing there, watching over my shoulder.
I sat there for a while, too afraid to leave the machine in case someone else sat down at it. I thought of
Mischko again; if she were here, she would have gone to find someone. I saw a few employees, but they
were cocktail waitresses serving drinks to the guests.
After about five minutes, I stood up and walked a few meters away from the machine to see if anyone was
showing up. Three people were clustered together, but they were far away, handling another payout. I
moved about ten meters from my machine and spotted two people who looked like staff. After excusing
myself, I asked if they worked at the casino. They confirmed they did. I pointed toward my machine,
which was still loudly celebrating its jackpot. Another five minutes later, two employees walked over. One
of them opened the machine and took out a slip of paper, likely to record when someone won a jackpot or
cash. When he finished, the other employee pulled out a cash pouch. After counting out nine hundred-
dollar bills and placing them in my hands, he gave me the final hundred in twenty-dollar bills. From
experience, they do this so that if a player wants to tip, they can easily hand over twenty dollars.
Naturally, I first took all the bills in my hand and then handed him one of the twenties as a tip. Both of
them laughed enthusiastically and thanked me.
As I held the bills and sorted them to shove into my shorts, the two employees silenced the machine. The
music stopped, and they locked the machine back up. The one who locked it spoke to me. “You still have
fifteen dollars in the machine.” Me – “Ohh, I completely forgot.” Employee – “When people win, most of
them forget they still have money in the machine. That’s what we’re here for, to remind you.” Me – “Thank
you, that’s very kind.”
After they walked away, I sat back down and did a few more spins just to see what symbols the machine
would throw out after a jackpot. I had no desire to keep playing on that same machine. After all, I had just
pulled a massive payout, and logic told me the machine would now have to take in a lot of money before
it paid out again. I walked past the chiming machines and the players sitting at them.
I found an open machine that had similar symbols to the one in Starlight Casino, where I had actually
been doing well. Internally, I thought and swore to myself that I wouldn’t gamble this money away. I
would show the money to Mischko, and I figured she would forgive me for losing her cash earlier. As I sat
on the stool, my free hand hovered over the pocket where the money was stashed.
Because I was sitting with both legs elevated, I had to keep my hand positioned carefully to ensure the
pocket didn’t accidentally open and spill all the cash. It was a velcro closure, but with the amount of
money I currently had in that pocket, I didn’t trust it. After losing about thirty dollars across two different
machines in half an hour, I decided to leave the casino.
First, I had to exchange a forty-dollar ticket into cash at the cashier. Once I stuffed those forty dollars in
bills into my side pocket, the pocket was even fuller. After sealing the velcro shut, I double-checked to
make sure it was securely closed and left the casino, having been there for less than an hour.
Taxis were waiting outside. At first, I considered taking a taxi home, dropping off the money, and coming
back. But since ninety-nine percent of the taxi drivers were Indian and looked so dark, almost like gypsies
to me, I decided to walk home. After walking down a few steps, I was back on the open concrete plaza. I
turned around just to make sure no one was following me.
Reaching the sidewalk along the expressway, I turned right. It was probably shortly after 2:00 AM. The
temperature had dropped outside, making it a bit chillier than on the way there. I had to walk for a while
just to reach Main Street. Alone in a foreign country, I walked along the expressway. It would take me at
least fifteen minutes to reach Main Street. Not a soul in sight far and wide. I switched sides of the street a
few times here, too. I simply walked between the silver guardrails under the highway overpass for a bit.
Occasionally, a lone car drove by.
I kept turning around, being cautious and wanting to make sure no one was tailing me and that I was still
alone. At that moment, I thought that if a driver saw a lone person like me out at this hour, they would
definitely think I was a poor bastard. There was no danger from the drivers since they were speeding past.
After about fifteen minutes, just before Main Street, I crossed the road and was no longer under the
highway overpass, finally back on the sidewalk.
Once I no longer had to focus on switching sides of the street, a thought hit me: What incredible luck I
have in Vancouver. This is the second time I’ve pulled a huge sum of money—by my standards—out of a
machine. Two years ago, I lost 1000 dollars in Calgary. Since our flight left from Vancouver and we had
to fly back to Hawaii from there, we had returned to Vancouver. Even though we slept at the Best
Western, we had enough time to play at the airport casino. There, I had won 1400 dollars. Essentially
recouping everything I had lost in Calgary.
Main Street was empty. But it was brightly lit. I walked up the slight incline on the right side of the street.
Just before 10th East Avenue, on the other side of the road, I saw a police car parked next to a phone
booth with smashed glass. The officer was dusting for fingerprints.
I touched my side pocket again, which was still securely closed. It was a very satisfying walk, especially
when I remembered how depressed I had been walking toward the casino. Over the next twenty minutes, I
saw several more police cars parked on Main Street, dealing with groups of drunk pedestrians. Then,
multiple police cruisers sped down the hill toward downtown, where the drug scene is.
I switched sides of the street for the penultimate time in front of the ice cream shop we visited every
single time we walked past. Whether we were walking down Main Street or up the hill, ice cream was a
must. With my back to the shop, I crossed the empty street over the streetcar tracks to the other side. Once
I reached 21st East, I would cross for the last time, knowing I was safe and no one could follow me
because I would disappear into the darkness.
As I walked past the houses on 21st Avenue, everyone was fast asleep. No people, no cats, no lights. Only
when I reached the small intersection was I grateful for a little bit of light. From that small streetlamp for
the final seventy meters to the house where we were staying, I felt completely safe; it was a pleasant,
secure neighborhood.
After struggling in the semi-darkness for a while to unlock the door, I left my sweaty sports jacket
downstairs. It was drenched in sweat because I had walked up the hill on Main Street at a brisk pace.
Quietly, I sneaked upstairs and saw that her door was still open. She was tucked in like a baby. The bed
looked like something out of a fairy tale and suited her perfectly. We had three rooms at our disposal, and
she had chosen the one with the large balcony.
Should I wake her or not? Maybe it’s better to wait until breakfast tomorrow. I went into my room and
washed my hands in my sink.
After brushing my teeth and still debating it, I finally walked into her bedroom. “Mischkooo…” I
whispered, standing there a few times. Only on the third try. “What is it?” she groaned in her sleep.
“I won a thousand dollars,” I said, and turned on the light.
“What is iiiiittt?” she asked, still half-asleep.
The nightstand lamp was on. “I—I won a thousand dollars.” I think she thought she was dreaming. I told
her, “It’s not a dream. I came back and took the money out of my pocket.” She stared at the cash I showed
her. Then I told her how it had happened in such a short amount of time. I just didn’t feel like playing any
longer. If she had been there, I probably would have stayed longer.
Sitting up in bed, she shook her head from left to right a few times, barely able to believe that I had won a
thousand dollars on a one-cent machine. For her was like a nice dream. Five minutes later, we were both
fast asleep. She in her bed, me in mine.