Why Time Disappears in the Garage—and How Casinos Exploit the Same Trick

Of all the things that have been broken, repaired, or patched back together on the benches of my workshop, there is one item that I just can’t bring myself to keep running for any extended period of time: a wall clock. After a few years of trying—and failing—to keep the neon-wrapped clock above one workbench running, I’ve surrendered and decided that within the confines of my garage, time is not something to be monitored.

This technique is a powerful and dangerous thing, as anyone who embraces it can attest. Losing track of time is often part of the “flow state” many seek to find while working on projects in the garage, the weight of life shifting or dropping from our shoulders as we focus in on what is directly in front of us.

But last fall, I was reminded that other places utilize this trick against me: casinos.

Kyle Smith

While out west last fall to ride motorcycles with friends, I walked the Las Vegas strip on a Saturday night. The bright lights, crowds, and ease with which time disappeared were magical. Even with my knowing the businesses were designed—nay, engineered—for me to get lost and lose track of time, I tried to check my watch constantly and keep track of when I was leaving or entering a new building or business to see if I could outsmart the mouse trap. I couldn’t.

Maybe it was the two days of riding affecting my brain, but I quickly hit the point where I was in it to find the exit, which is not always easy. Life hack: Follow signs to the valet. That’s your way out, and often easier to spot than other indications of exits.

The problem with my garage is the same as that of Vegas: You are guaranteed to lose track of time. It’s a feature, not a bug. When things are going well, hours disappear and progress moves fast as our brains can plan and execute tasks. Yet the world has shown all of us that the good times don’t last forever, and some projects make losing track of time a frustrating endeavor.

For instance, after three hours of fighting a stubborn electrical connector on my Corvette project last Saturday morning, I ventured inside to find my wife only halfway through the hour-long show she started as I was walking out the door.

“Why are you rewatching this?”
“I’m not. You weren’t gone but 20 minutes. Did you forget your coffee or something?”

Jordan Lewis

The garage casino strikes again. With no reference to time, only the feeling of frustration, it was easy to see how my brain strung out 20 minutes of fiddling into a three-hour battle. It makes sense because I have experienced the inverse plenty and am forced to recognize that luck cares little for circumstance. Some days we just have it, other days we very much don’t.

The hardest part is coming to grips with the fact