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The professor manning the roulette table launched the ball, and it spun round and round the wheel. It could stop on any number, I realized. The outcome was determined by the interaction of all sorts of unknown factors, like humidity, atmospheric pressure, imperfections on the surface of the ball and the wheel, and of course, the degree of force with which the ball was launched. Sort of like events in my life. I may launch myself on a particular trajectory, with a clear goal in mind, but factors beyond my control often send me spinning off to a different destination entirely. With these thoughts in mind, I approached the spinning wheel. I had launched myself into this new job, and like the ball on the roulette wheel, I had no idea where I finally would land. Thus, the final segment of my orientation to life as a tenure-track professor at CCSN was learning how to play roulette. I can’t say that I ever put this knowledge to much use. While living in Las Vegas, the only time I visited casinos was to frequent the movie theaters and restaurants located there. I think I may have dropped a quarter or two in a slot machine on a couple of occasions while waiting for my girlfriend to come out of the bathroom. But that was about it. It’s not that I found gambling to be morally repugnant. I was more than happy to collect a salary paid for with the proceeds from gaming taxes. No, I didn’t gamble because it seemed like a waste of time. After all, if the odds were in favor of the gambler, rather than the casino, the gaming industry would collapse, and Las Vegas would revert to sagebrush and tumbleweeds. As a former economics instructor, whenever I feel like gambling, I am more inclined to gamble on the stock market than the slot machine or the roulette wheel. As a human being, I am even more likely to bet on myself.
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