Trigger Happy
the machine into a big plastic basket. From there they can be scooped back into the machine for more plays, after the initial hundred have been used up.
Now if you amass a great many balls, and you have the self-discipline not to shove them straight back in the machine, you can go to the back of the shop and exchange them for real stuff, like a toaster or a microwave oven. In fact, most Pachinko parlors operate a shady back room where balls can be converted into cash. But this is, strictly speaking, illegal, for in Japan Pachinko is not officially regarded as a “gambling” game.
The final monetary exchange is cleverly disguised, mediated by the tiny silver balls. But this deferral of the transaction is potentially endless, as a player will often reuse all the balls he has won and end up with nothing physical to show for the session—in which case nothing has been “won” at all save an unquantifiable gameplaying pleasure. The transaction—the verifiable, quantifiable content, from an accountant’s point of view—is secondary to the experience of the form, the pleasure of playing the machine exquisitely well. Pachinko is a primarily aesthetic experience.
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