My Dirty Little Casino Secret

By Wendy Pierman Mitzel While most of us are at the office or the grocery store or the basement laundry room rubbing out chocolate milk stains, there’s a place that’s hopping like it’s a Friday night in Times Square: Mohegan Sun Casino. Deep in the cavernous bowels of the casino, reached only via long passageways from each entrance, there is a daytime “underworld” that’s less Godfather and more Grandparent. Elderly gamblers ramble by on rentable motorized scooters like battery operated Vespas in Italian roundabouts. They are often followed by the accompanying spouse, who often has an oxygen tank on wheels and most likely a fanny pack and is yelling instructions no one is listening to. They beeline toward the sensory overload of slots with flashing cartoon women who entice them to play Mermaid Fin and Gypsy Eyes and China Shores and push the hit button over and over so they are rewarded with beeps and trills and scrolling reels that  almost never say jackpot. There, the slot players sit, taking advantage of the free drinks and discretely inhaling the lit cigarettes dangling from their non-playing fingers. Bored greeters wait for high rollers at the exclusive Read more...