Last Thursday, Terri Snow joined the growing ranks of gamblers who've won huge payouts on faulty slots, only to lose the loot on legal technicalities.
Snow played three quarters in a progressive Signature machine at Mandalay Bay last year, hitting three 7s for a $1,105 jackpot. When an attendant inserted a card to record her initial win, the number $42,987,000 splashed across the fluorescent payout screen.
She was in the money! Only she wasn't. The machine flubbed. Some mixup in the internal circuitry. The casino paid $1,105 and sent her along. Snow got an attorney and filed an appeal. Inside the Grant Sawyer state building last Thursday, the Gaming Control Board heard it and dropped it. Cash grab denied.
Lady Luck can be one stingy bitch.
Gaming Control Board Hearing Examiner Rick DeGuise says cases like Snow's are, at best, infrequent. But if there hasn't been a marked increase in mechanical foul-ups on the gaming floor, there has been an increase in the number making news.
2001: Francesca Galea-Martin of Sacramento won, then lost, $2.8 million from a faulty Wheel of Fortune progressive slot at the Eldorado hotel; the same year, Las Vegan Art Miles hit $2.5 million on a malfunctioning Quartermania progressive slot at the Castaways.
2000: The state Supreme Court sided with the Silver Legacy in Reno, forcing Cengiz Sengel, of Belmont, California, to forfeit a $1.8 million Quartermania payday won in 1996.
1999: A defective Betty Boop Thrillions nickel game at The Sands Regency mistakenly awarded Sylvia Ramon of San Gutierrez, California, a $112,600 jackpot.
1997: Joe Pepitone began his fight for $463,000 in winnings from a Nevada Nickels machine at Arizona Charlie's; the state Supreme Court ruled for the casino in 2001.
Unnerved by the problem, longtime gaming cynic Sen. Joe Neal, D-North Las Vegas, tried forcing casinos to honor payouts on malfunctioning machines during the 2001 legislative session. He failed. Ensuring the death of Neal's bill: preemptive 1999 legislation, pushed through by gamers, indemnifying the industry from payouts on broken machines. To avoid paying, casinos must show a record of the malfunction stored in the computerized memory of the equipment and post public notices of the law for customers.
Regarding Snow's case, DeGuise says there was a communications breakdown between the machine and its interior tracking equipment, triggering the vacuum—a fluorescent display in the center of the game—to show the errant figure. Such mistakes can happen, he says, because machines contain parts from several different companies; made by Sigma, the offending slot had a Mikohn controller and an Acres Gaming tracking system.
"But this is a rare occurrence," says DeGuise, noting that Snow can file for judicial review. Attempts to reach Snow and her Oklahoma attorney were unsuccessful.
Considering that, every minute, millions of slots handles are pulled nationwide, gaming expert and Las Vegas Advisor publisher Anthony Curtis says DeGuise is correct—mechanical shit does happen. Now it's happening more frequently. "These are not a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrences."
Curtis hears of half a dozen cases a year. At smaller properties, where jackpots may top out at $4,000, he estimates more than 30 mechanical foul-ups each year. Since errant payout numbers, added up, would drain casinos, Curtis says, casinos need legal cover from insistent gamblers.
"Sometimes, it's obvious the machine has gone screwy … bells and whistles going off even though not all of the symbols are lining up," he says. "When your car or vacuum cleaner breaks down after a certain time, you can no longer hold manufacturers' responsible. Warranties on parts expire and you have to deal with it ... holding casinos accountable would change the landscape of the industry."
Still, Curtis thinks stories about jackpots lost on mechanical technicalities give anti-gaming zealots fresh ammo.
"Every time it happens, it's a black mark for the casino industry," Curtis says. "People think, 'Them dirty bastards, they don't even want to pay when you beat them.'"