Something I noticed strongly, in all my years working in land-based gambling venues, was couples coming in together. And I don't only mean people who were simply dating. I mean engaged couples and, above all, married couples. Of every age: 19 to 25, 30 to 35, and couples well into old age.
At first I didn't pay it much attention. But as more and more couples appeared, I started to wonder, and it started to trouble me.
The partner who “caught” it
Over the years I had a lot of conversations with customers. I heard their stories first-hand. And I came to a conclusion that shook me.
When one of the two found out about the other's gambling problem, the unexpected happened. Exactly the thing I never thought I'd hear. The partner who had never had anything to do with gambling caught the bug. And not only caught it. Sometimes they became even more hooked than the partner who was already addicted.
Not every partner, of course. Many fight it. Many leave. But it happened far more often than I would ever have guessed. Maybe they went along at first to keep an eye on the other one. Maybe to understand what was so strong that it could take their person away. Maybe just to be together. Whatever the reason, the door that was meant to be closed got a second person walking through it.
More secrets, not fewer
In those homes, with two gamblers in the family, we can all understand how much sharper the problem gets, and how big it grows. And for anyone who assumes that at least there are no secrets any more, I can tell you with certainty: the secrets didn't disappear. They multiplied. The only secret they now share is that both of them play.
But how much each one loses? Do they know that about each other? Unfortunately, no. And it was easy to tell: soon each of them was also coming in alone, without the other. Once both were players and the big secret was gone, it freed them to make solo visits too. On top of losses that had now doubled under one roof, a new problem appeared. Each one hid from the other what they lost. And what they won.
Unbelievable, you'll say. And yet I saw it with my own eyes. Husband and wife, ten metres apart, both at the slot machines. One calls over: “How's it going, winning?” And the other answers: “No, losing. Shame.” A lie, of course. A few minutes earlier, that same person had come to me at the till to collect a win.
I saw scenes like that many, many times. And I always wondered: how much pretending can a married couple take?
Why hide a win?
Hiding a loss is easy to understand. Nobody wants to be blamed. But why would anyone hide a win from their own husband or wife? There's a bigger explanation than you might think, and it fits in one sentence: so that each of them has a little more money to play with. Tragic, but real.
Think about it from the inside. A win you announce becomes household money. It goes on the rent, the electricity, the children's shoes. A win you keep quiet stays yours. It becomes tomorrow's stake. So, little by little, each of them builds a private bank: cash in a jacket pocket, a card the other doesn't know about, a balance on a phone app that's never shown. Two people sharing one bed and one bank account, each running a secret account of their own.
And the lies about losses have a purpose too. If you lost less than me, I'm the problem. If I lost less than you, you are. So the numbers get smaller when they're spoken out loud, and the arguments become a contest: “You lost more than me.” Nobody wins that contest. Both of them lose it, every time.
When nobody can say “stop”
In a home with one gambler, there's at least one person who can still say “stop”. They may not be listened to, but the voice is there. In a home with two gamblers, that voice goes quiet. How can you tell me to stop, when you play too? Each one's gambling becomes the other's permission. The brake is gone, and nobody is guarding the door any more.
And the partner stops being a partner. Two people who once shared everything are now, without saying it, rivals for the same money: the same money that was meant to feed their family.
What's left when the truth is gone
This is where values and ideals are lost. Every bit of trust goes. Any truth looks faded. Even the respect each one had for the other ends up in the rubbish bin. Long relationships, built over years, are tested to breaking point, because there are now two gamblers living in the same house.
And here you see, in all its ugliness, how low a person can fall: in their respect for themselves, and in their respect for the person they chose to share their life with. Lying to the one who sleeps next to you, for a few more spins. Every time, you know it. Every time, you feel a little smaller. And when you look across the room, you know the other one is doing exactly the same.
But there's one thing I want you to take from this. If one partner could pull the other in, one partner can also be the first to step out. It usually starts with one person, on one day, telling the whole truth. The losses, and the wins too. That's the moment the house gets its first voice that says “stop” again.
