I hovered over the sign-up button. Vavada sign up
https://rainbowautomation.co.in . It was a simple, glowing field. I thought, what's the harm? It's just a form. It's not money. It's just… typing. A thing to do. A tiny rebellion against the crushing professionalism of the day.
So I did it. I filled in the blanks. Email. Made up a username—"FrankfurtFlyer," pathetic, I know. Password. Country. It took ninety seconds. I clicked submit. A little animation played. A confirmation email hit my inbox. "Welcome to the club," it said. I was in. I felt a silly little thrill. Like I'd joined a secret society of one.
They offered a free spin on a "welcome wheel" just for registering. I clicked. It spun, all shiny and digital. It landed on a "€5 bonus, no deposit needed." Free money. Well, not money, credit. But still. It felt like finding a five-euro note in an old coat. A gift from the universe for surviving the supply chain lectures.
That five euros was the key. It transformed me from a spectator to a participant. I had skin in the game, even if it was fake skin. I found a slot called "Book of Dead." I set the bet to the minimum, like 20 cents a spin. And I just… played. The music was epic, all Egyptian flutes and drums. The reels had gods and scarabs. I wasn't thinking about freight rates. I was following the story of the game. I triggered free spins. The special symbol expanded. I won maybe three euros. Then lost it. Then won two. It was a meaningless dance of digital coins, and it was utterly captivating.
An hour vanished. Just gone. The heavy boredom was replaced by a light, focused engagement. When I finally looked up, the room was dark. I’d missed the pre-dinner drinks. I didn't care.
I deposited twenty euros of my own money. Just to keep the experiment going. I moved to the live casino. A blackjack table. The dealer was a woman named Irina. She had a sharp bob and a slight, professional smile. There were two
