Pick a Number, Lose Your Dignity

It was a warm Friday night.

The type of warmth that comes from exhaust and freeway traffic after a hard week of US Army Advanced Training. Those are the times when you'll do just about anything to get off-base and away from the prying eyes of the Army CID trying to bust new soldiers drinking underage.

I had gone to a hotel party that wasn't hitting it for me. People were much too drunk, much too early. One soldier I didn't recognize was already passed out in a bathtub.

So, I left. A carnival had set up shop nearby. It looked innocent enough, with bright lights, loud music, and the smell of fried everything.

I wasn't looking for trouble, but trouble found me holding a megaphone and yelling, "Pick a number, any number!" I didn't want to. I resisted the best I could, but the excited man knew I was a soldier and used that to get me to his booth.

There it was: a giant board covered in numbers, with a chubby Eastern European carny explaining how easy it was. "All you gotta do is pick the right number, and you'll win big!" he said as if I hadn't already made enough bad decisions in my life. He had the charm of a used car salesman and the integrity of a poker cheat. I was relieved he was not in a Speedo. He was the type of gentleman who contacted the Forest Service to handle the hair on his back.

I handed over my first five bucks with the confidence of a man who knew nothing. Of course, I didn't pick the right number. But he said, "You're so close! Double down, and I'll give you two guesses!" And like a fool, I did.

I won. He convinced me to try again. I won again. Then I lost and won a third time, not thinking about the fact that each time I won, the carny got me to lay down another $20 bill.

At one point, I was guessing numbers so fast that I started thinking, "Is this math class? Did I enlist for this?" The odds of winning were about the same as me getting promoted for losing my money so creatively.

Before I knew it, I was $100 poorer, and the only thing I had to show for it was a scrawny purple panda and a lesson in humility.

It was the kind of stuffed animal you'd find in the clearance bin at a gas station but with slightly more emotional damage. One of its eyes was a little crooked, which seemed fitting since my judgment was clearly impaired that night. If I'd paid more attention, I might've noticed the tag that said, Made in Regret. It was so cheap it probably had a stuffing ration. Half a handful per limb.

There was a female soldier in our group who had been laughing at my misery from a safe distance. She had agreed to leave the hotel. It had been too strange there, and either the cops or a hotel manager were about to appear any second and send everyone on their separate ways. From the boisterous happenings, steel jewelry was possibly going to be involved.

The carnival was my stupid idea.

She was from Ohio and in my class. We had a few things in common, which led to many conversations and, for me, a crush. While somewhat mutual, the feelings weren't as strong on her side, as I was a Reservist going back home, and she was on active duty.

We kissed once in a mall, and that was about all the time the training cycle allowed for that nonsense.

So there I was with a purple panda with stick legs and a look on its face as if it had tried to walk through a brick wall and was still confused. I couldn't bear to look at it. I was ashamed I'd utterly failed in my first attempt to gamble, and since we were headed in different directions anyway, it was as much punishment as it was kindness. Which, of course, is relative. It was now hers.

When I handed her the panda, she looked at me like I'd just offered her a used tissue. She accepted it, but I'm pretty sure she was only being polite. Or maybe she thought it was an elaborate cry for help.

She kept the panda, but I'm pretty sure she would have put it on Craigslist the next day had it existed at the time.

They say you can't put a price on life lessons, but I beg to differ. Mine cost exactly $100 and came with a side of embarrassment and failed romantic potential. The military teaches you to survive in the wild, but no one covers survival at a carnival.

Every time I see a stuffed animal now, I feel my wallet twitch in fear."

The Army teaches you to adapt and overcome, but it doesn't prepare you for the high-stakes world of carnival games. If this had been basic training, I'd have been recycled faster than that panda's stuffing.

If I'd shown the same determination in PT as I did in that game, I'd have been Soldier of the Year.

Years later, I don't remember the numbers I picked or the money I lost. What I do remember is that scrawny purple panda and the look on my teammate's face when I handed it to her. Some memories are priceless, even when they're stupid. Other memories remind me of how horribly I sucked at dating in general.

It was bad. And so I went on an embargo of all sorts of gambling, a bar that continues to this day. There were several valuable lessons to be had there, and I learned them.

The next time someone says, "Pick a number," I'm picking zero and walking away.