The Side Hustle That Wasn't

[harlequinguenevere]

I have a rule about side hustles. If it sounds like a pyramid scheme, I run. If it requires an upfront investment, I think twice. If it promises passive income, I laugh and close the tab.

So when my coworker Derek told me about his new "online gaming strategy" during lunch, I tuned out immediately. Derek is the kind of guy who has a new get-rich-quick idea every month. Last month it was crypto. The month before, it was selling protein powder. I nodded along while eating my sandwich and forgot everything he said by the time I got back to my desk.

Except one thing. The name of a site. It stuck in my head for no reason. Probably because Derek said it three times in five minutes, like he was getting paid per mention.

I didn't think about it again until two weeks later. I was sitting on my couch on a Sunday night, doing something I hate: calculating how I was going to make it to the next paycheck.

The math wasn't complicated. It was just depressing. I had three hundred and twenty dollars to last twelve days. Rent was paid, so I wasn't going to be homeless. But groceries, gas, and the electric bill were all coming due. I'd already canceled my gym membership. I was eating a lot of pasta. The kind that comes in a bag for ninety-nine cents.

I'm a teacher. Middle school history. I didn't get into this for the money, but I also didn't expect to be doing mental math on a Sunday night about whether I could afford actual cheese instead of the powdered stuff.

I was scrolling through my phone, avoiding the spreadsheet I'd made to track every dollar, when I saw a note I'd saved. Just a URL. No context. I stared at it for a minute before I remembered. Derek. The casino site.

I didn't believe in Derek's "strategy." I didn't believe in systems or secrets or any of that. But I was sitting on my couch, stressed about cheese, and I thought: what's fifty dollars?

Fifty dollars wasn't going to solve my problems. Fifty dollars was three days of gas and a bag of pasta. But fifty dollars was also something I could lose without changing my life. I'd already budgeted for it. Sort of. I just hadn't spent it yet.

I typed in the URL. The site loaded fast. Clean design, professional. Not the flashing carnival I expected. I spent a few minutes reading, checking the game list, making sure withdrawals were straightforward. I'm a history teacher. I do research before I do anything.

I decided to do it. The process was simple. Took maybe three minutes to create Vavada account and get set up. I deposited fifty dollars from the card I used for groceries. Told myself I'd eat ramen if I lost it. I'd eaten ramen before.

I'm not a gambler. I play cards with my brother at Christmas. That's the extent of my experience. So I picked something simple. A slot game with a classic theme. Cherries, bells, sevens. Nothing fancy. Just spin and watch.

I played for twenty minutes. Lost ten dollars. Won five back. Lost another eight. It was exactly what I expected. I was having fun, actually. The lights, the sounds, the little dopamine hit when the reels lined up. It was better than staring at my spreadsheet.

I switched to a different game. A card game. Blackjack. Something I understood. I knew the rules from those Christmas games with my brother. Hit or stand. Simple.

I started with minimum bets. Played slow. Lost a few hands, won a few back. My balance hovered around forty dollars. I wasn't paying attention to the numbers anymore. I was just playing. The Sunday night disappeared. The spreadsheet was forgotten. Just me, the cards, and the quiet of my apartment.

About an hour in, I caught a run.

Not a huge one. Just consistent. I won three hands in a row. Then four. My balance climbed to eighty, then one twenty, then one eighty. I kept playing the same way. Small bets. Smart decisions. No chasing.

On the next hand, I got dealt something good. I played it carefully. Doubled down when the moment felt right. When the cards flipped, I had won. But this time, the win was bigger. My balance jumped past four hundred.

I looked at the screen. Four hundred and twenty dollars. I could buy groceries. Pay the electric bill. Get actual cheese. Maybe even take myself out for a coffee that wasn't from the gas station.

I withdrew everything. Didn't play another hand. Didn't try to double it. I just cashed out and closed the site.

The money hit my account two days later. I paid the electric bill that morning. Bought groceries that afternoon. Real groceries. Vegetables. Chicken. Cheese. The kind that comes in a block and costs more than a dollar.

I stood in my kitchen that night, cooking actual food, and thought about Derek. He'd probably moved on to his next scheme by now. But that name he kept repeating at lunch had stuck. And for one Sunday night, it had made a difference.

I still teach middle school history. I still budget. I still eat pasta sometimes. But every once in a while, on a quiet night when the grading is done and the spreadsheets are closed, I'll log in and play a little. Nothing serious. Just a few hands. Just enough to remember that sometimes the side hustle that wasn't supposed to be a side hustle works out.

I saw Derek at school last week. He was talking to someone about NFTs. I smiled, walked past, didn't say anything.

Some rules are worth keeping. And some rules are worth breaking on a Sunday night when you just need a break from the math.