Long after his software company was sold, long after he'd made his nut,
he was dressing up in silly disguises and hitting the tables, grinding
out hand after hand of twenty-one, for the sheer satisfaction of Beating
The House. For him, it was pure brain-reward, a jolt of happy-juice
every time the dealer busted and every time he doubled down on a
deckfull of face cards.
Though I'd never bought so much as a lottery ticket, I immediately got
his compulsion: for me, it was Beating The Crowd, finding the path of
least resistance, filling the gaps, guessing the short queue, dodging
the traffic, changing lanes with a whisper to spare -- moving with
precision and grace and, above all, _expedience_.
On that fateful return, I checked into the Fort Wilderness Campground,
pitched my tent, and fairly ran to the ferry docks to catch a barge over
to the Main Gate.
Crowds were light until I got right up to Main Gate and the ticketing
queues. Suppressing an initial instinct to dash for the farthest one,
beating my ferrymates to what rule-of-thumb said would have the shortest
wait, I stepped back and did a quick visual survey of the twenty kiosks
and evaluated the queued-up huddle in front of each.
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