Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.06.2013, Blaðsíða 16

Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.06.2013, Blaðsíða 16
16The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 7 — 2013 Money For Nothing Addiction gambling in Iceland by Thomas L. Moir An unsteady, elderly man spends the better part of a minute dismounting from his stool. He hobbles over to the counter, props his walking stick up against the desk and pulls a crumpled 5,000 ISK note from his pocket. He is unshaven, unwashed and clasps a half empty beer bottle in his stick-less hand. Iceland | Gambling The desk is unattended, and the man grows more impatient by the second. Fi- nally, from behind the bulletproof glass, a disinterested staff member emerges, still chewing down his lunch. He takes the elderly man’s note and methodically changes it for coins. The old man col- lects his coins and his stick wordlessly and begins the journey back across the crusty carpet, through the muted-gold lights, past row upon row of slot ma- chines of clashing tempos until he makes it to his preferred spot. Ask any staff member. On any day at any Háspenna slot machine venue in the capital city, the scene couldn’t be more familiar. And it is only midday. Although gambling is illegal in Ice- land, the government has made excep- tions to allow the University of Iceland to run a national lottery and Íslandsspil to run slot machines with funds going to ICE-SAR, the Icelandic Association for Search and Rescue; the Icelandic Red Cross; and SÁÁ, Iceland’s National Cen- ter of Addiction Medicine. Taking a gamble on treatment Approaching the reception desk at SÁÁ, I ask for Ási, the gentleman I’m due to meet. The woman manning the desk smiles back at me sympathetically be- fore asking for my full name. I give it to her. She then requests my social security number. I look back at her curiously. She meets my stare and after a few seconds says, “Never mind. Well that’ll be 2,000 ISK then.” Further confused, I ask her why I need to pay. She looks amused, but still sympathetic, and replies simply, “You know, to seek treatment, you need to pay.” At this point I tell her I’m just here to chat with Ási, not to ‘chat’ with Ási. When she finally understands, she starts laughing, turns to her colleague and explains the misunderstanding to her, who also breaks into laughter while I steal a glance at my reflection in the glass di- vider to check just how shabby I look. Resurfacing from the laughter, she finally turns back and says, “Sorry I thought you needed treatment.” I thank her for her flattery and proceed through the door to meet Ási, a former alcoholic who has been an alcohol and chemical de- pendency counsellor with SÁÁ for more than 15 years. He offers me a coffee—a permitted vice here—before we settle into a pair of comfortable chairs in one corner of his office. Sporting a beard and well-worn sweater, Ási comes across as a wise man. I get the feeling he treats all he meets with an equally understanding, calm The youngest one I’ve ever talked to was 14-years-old... He was so ashamed that he was losing so much money gambling that he told his parents he was using drugs. “ „ Photos: Simon Steel main sponsor Icelandair to publish daily coverage of the festival. For- eign music journalists and a herd of photographers were flown in and we managed to put out three 24-page issues in three days. By the end of the festival, three foreign mu- sic journalists and three Grapevine staffers had matching tattoos, due to a lost bet involving a hot dog eat- ing contest. First time we lost our s**t The Grapevine has always been a small operation. Currently we have about seven people on our staff, along with a rather extensive num- ber of freelance contributors and interns. There once was a time, though, when we though we'd up our game, as was the style at the time. Yup, in 2006 we kinda lost sight of things, and that is an under- statement. We moved into a huge office with two bathrooms, a caf- eteria, a meeting room and as many as five large, separate offices and a huge open space (we now work out of "a room"). During the following summer we had as many as fourteen people on staff, and countless other paid contributors. We even had a re- ceptionist (that was nice, though). In short, we lost the plot. Why, and how, this didn't bankrupt Grapevine is complicated, but to say the least, there are people out there, some of whom still work at this publication, that saved it from sudden death in the following years by working very hard, for very little pay. First global recession The global recession hit the world in 2008, and as the Grapevine is part of said world, it was also hit. But with some restructuring (which involved moving to a smaller office and re- ducing the editorial staff to basically one person), good faith and a whole lot of patience, we seem to be pull- ing through OK. The króna lost its value but now tourists flock to Ice- land giving us valuable foreign cur- rency. There is always a silver lining somewhere. First non-English language pages Iceland after the collapse—and through some odd misunderstand- ing (we're looking at you, Deena Stryker)—started inspiring people all over the globe to fight the power, say no to austerity and jail bankers Continued Continues over Continues over
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