Lets see... What's been going on since my last update?
I was going to write about Sunday night at work, but got distracted on Monday and never got around to it. But we were slow as hell that night, at least to the casual observer, but I was busier than shiat. It seems that I got put on a string of three $5 blackjack 6-deck shoe games, which is generally a cakewalk, but extremely dull, and of course those tables are always populated with the *best* players.
I was joking with the assistant shift manager that she put me on those games because I told her that I wasn't taking any more Early Outs for the rest of the month (except on Monday nights before my 'weekends')--I needed the money too much to take any time off, and she was just testing my resolve because dealing nothing but five-dollar blackjack will drive even the most steadfast worker to the early-out list. It's like an eight-hour jail sentence.
I shouldn't have worried, though, because a couple sat down at my table asking if I minded them joining me. Not at all, I said, because at the I was just doing my mental masturbation of trying to total up all of the progressive jackpots within view of my otherwise dead table, and figuring out how I'd spend the money.
Anyhow, it turns out that the fellow was a regular reader of this here site, and not only that, he'd purchased a Hurricane Mikey t-shirt (I vaguely remember sending one to Amsterdam). He was also kind enough to bring along a Partagas #1 cigar with him as a gift.
We had an enjoyable time together, and Tom and Yolanda did a helluva job setting the example of how to tip the dealers, making sure they each had a buck up for me on every hand. Pretty soon the entire table had gotten into the spirit of it, and I was dropping some good cash in the toke box. That was very nice.
Unfortunately, the other two tables on my string were just completely dead. Mine was full, you couldn't get a seat if you wanted, so while my coworkers were standing around shifting from one foot to the other for an hour, I was sweating my ass off, trying to crank out 400+ hands per hour, and making up for their non-contributions to the toke pool. Luckily, I get a break every hour, and it was much needed. When I went back, my next table was dead--for a minute, and then everyone from my previous table picked up and moved over and sat with me again. This pattern repeated itself until sometime after midnight.
I figured I dropped something around $400 that night, so I was pretty happy. But even better than that was spending time laughing it up with Tom and Yolanda. Not like I needed much encouragement, but they've got me convinced to put Amsterdam on my Must Visit list. It was great to meet them.
Later that night, I was sitting in the dining room, talking to my friend Jennifer, and she told me that she'd dropped almost $500 that night dealing on a couple of $25 double-deck games. Nice. I figured we were in for a good night.
The hard part however, was standing around on dead tables the rest of the night. The bosses came around asking over and over again who wanted to go home. I was dead tired after working like a rented mule for the first half of the shift, and the second half of the shift I was standing on dead tables watching the clock move backwards, so it was tempting.
I finally gave into temptation at 2:30 and said the hell with it, I can afford to take an hour off. As soon as I got home, I saw that I had received two text messages from Falcon Rob. The first one said "DUDE WHATEVER YOU DO, DO -NOT- TAKE EARLY OUT TONIGHT, DROPPED 5K THIS MORNING!"
Doh! So I was kicking myself, thinking we were in for a HUGE night and that I'd just cost myself 13% of it. As tired as I was, it was tough to sleep after that.
Oh? The second message?
"I JUST DRANK AN ENTIRE FOOTBALL WORTH OF BEER! LEEEEROOOOOY JEEENNNNKINNNNS!"
Apparently, Rob was out enjoying the some of the many diversions this fine city has to offer. And the diversions seemed to be getting the best of him.
Anyhow, the next night I got to work and found out that we made a whopping $123 each on Sunday night.
Yay.
My share was $107.
So I sent Rob the following text message: FIVE THOUSAND MY ASS. $123 LAST NIGHT.
I haven't heard from him since...
Monday night was another eight-hour jail sentence, but several of us got paroled for good behavior a couple of hours early, since there were SIX dead games in Chinatown at the same time. So the boss came by and said "Bring 'em up!" (meaning the lids to the chip-bank), which is casino-speak for 'Close the table, you're going home early!', and six very happy dealers headed for the time clock.
I can easily afford three or four hours a paycheck of early-out time, and since it was my Friday, I had absolutely no problem at all with getting the hell outta Dodge extra early. As I was driving home, I got a drunk-dial from another friend of mine. She was in a cab heading back to Henderson from the Wynn and wanted me to meet her at Green Valley Ranch. As much as I wanted to, I was tired, needed a shower, and just wanted to go to bed.
The reason she was calling me, it turns out, was because she wanted to borrow $300. The funny thing is, compared to my meager earnings, she is *extremely* wealthy. But she'd lost about $1500 that night and the ATM had reached it's payout limit. I don't mind loaning her the cash, she's totally good for it (and I have done so in the past, and got it back within 24 hours), and although I had the money, I just didn't feel like going to GVR and staying up all night, like I'm sure *would've* happened.
So I decided to mess with her. She kept asking me to go meet her, and said If you do, I'll even pay you some interest and take you to breakfast.
My response was "So by interest, do you mean a night of wild monkey-sex?"
Short pause.
Ok.
Heh.
I told her that she needed sleep more than money, and it was probably just a little too late to go out that night. She finally agreed and said she was heading home.
Of course, the next morning when I woke up, ALONE, and while eating a bowl of mushy raisin bran instead of the tasty offerings at the Original Pancake House, I had time to re-evaluate the choices I'd made the night before.
So basically I gave up a night of wild monkey-sex, breakfast at the Pancake House, and probably an extra $50. Why, again, did I say 'No' to this offer?
Clearly, I am an idiot.
So, instead of proudly doing the walk of shame on Tuesday morning, I spend the day lounging in bed watching all the stuff I Tivo'd over the weekend.
Sopranos? Holy Shit!
Entourage? Victory!!!
24? Are we there yet?
The bowl of raisin bran didn't do it for me, so later that afternoon I was feeling hungry. The endless commercials about that new Doublestack Steakhouse Melt at Wendy's were doing their trick on me, so I put on some pants and headed out in search of melty-juicy hamburger goodness and a tall cold Frosty to take the edge off of the heat of the day.
Bottom line--Most Overrated Burger Ever. Just plain shitty. Save your money. Peppercorns don't belong on a burger. At least not on this burger. Anyhow, while I was sitting in there, I got a call from Scotty, aka GottaVegasJones. He'd just arrived in town and wanted to get together for breakfast the next day (Wednesday).
I agreed, and we made plans to meet up at the Peppermill at 10:00 am.
Those of you who don't know Scotty, well, you're missing out. He's one of the finest people I know, and somebody more opposite of myself I doubt I'll ever find. He's an Episcopalian minister from Deep in South Texas, and has devoted his entire life to serving other people. I met him and his wonderful bride, Alice Lee, a couple years back and we became fast friends.
I guess we're really not *that* much different--he smokes, drinks, gambles, and has an eye for the ladies, (truly a Man of God!), but he is the nicest and most selfless person I've ever met. I told him that if I ever get married, and Elvis isn't available, I'd have him perform the service.
Anyhow, he's just a great friend and I always look forward to seeing him when he comes to town--we always have a lot of laughs.
So, I found myself at the Peppermill yesterday morning, and he introduced me to his friend Chuck, who's also a priest, but his church is in San Antonio--they're out in Vegas having a Guy's Week without the wives, and were kind enough to
Not in the mood to try and tackle the Chicken Fried Steak and Eggs, I briefly considered the Eggs Benedict, if only to piss off my boy Ken2V, who *hates* the Bennies at the Peppermill like the cat hates the squirtgun. I went with the pancake combo.
No, I couldn't finish that, either.
My plan for yesterday was to eat and run, get back to the house, and do about ten loads of laundry. But Scotty had other plans, and brought a travel humidor full of premium cigars with him. After breakfast was over, they insisted that I join them for some Pai Gow and smoking. I told them that I don't have the budget to gamble this month, but Scotty said "Screw that--you sit next to me and play the hand on my bankroll, so I don't have to double up to play two, and anything you win I get half of"
It's hard to argue with logic like that, although I tried.
So what happens if I lose?
Nothing--this is HOUSE MONEY, baby!
I don't know if that was all the Bloody Marys talking, but I found myself walking over to the Riviera with Chuck and Scott, looking for a Pai Gow table. Well, we didn't quite make it all the way to the Riviera, as they spied the half-price ticket booth in the parking lot, and we got sucked into that vortex when they suddenly decided that they wanted to see a show that night.
I noticed that they had plenty of Mama Mia tickets available for $55, even a day in advance, which is almost unheard of, so I called Angy and told her the news (I think we're gonna try and see it when she comes out in July).
Of course, the Rat Pack Tribute tickets were on sale, and although I'd seen it three times already, Chuck and Scotty both wanted to check it out (and you can't beat the price at only $31 per seat). We kicked around the idea of seeing the Fab Four show, one I've never seen but have always wanted to, but since Chuck insisted on buying the tix, I didn't want to push any one show. They both wanted to see the Rat Pack, and of course I love the show anyways, so I agreed to see it again.
Vouchers in hand, we headed over to the Riv.
Sadly, there was only one Pai Gow table open, and it was full. What to do?
We left.
They had checked out of the Imperial Palace that morning, and were moving on to Red Rock for the rest of their stay, and needed to get out there and check in at some point. So we decided to go back and move my truck from the Peppermill parking lot over to the Greek Isles, and then we'd just drive their rented Magnum station wagon over and spend the afternoon kicking around Red Rock.
I've never been in the 'hotel' part of Red Rock, and I have to admit that it's pretty nice. I like the fact that they have free bottled water and apples in the lobby to cool you off while waiting to check in, but I hate the fact that the elevators are only at one end of the hotel tower. So unless you're in a low-numbered room on your particular floor, it's a hike, brother.
Scotty and Chuck got checked in, and of course were representin' T2V nation by opening all the luggage right there in the middle of the lobby searching for Scott's cellphone. We got a few looks but unless you've lost your cellphone in Vegas, you don't know how unsettling it can be.
The phone was never found, officially declared Missing in Action, and we headed up to the room to drop the luggage.
Several minutes later we were back down in the casino searching for a Pai Gow table. We found one, but it was fairly cold. I think Scotty lost about $50 while I was still treading water at even. But the Newcastles were free, and especially tasty, and Scotty was doing his level best to drink them out of Makers Mark.
We ended up on a continuous-shuffle $5 blackjack game, dealt by the Hottest Woman I've Ever Seen Dealing in Vegas. Her name was Lena. She's from Moscow, and has been here in the States for three years. Still single. But so damn attractive it makes you hurt to think about it--Long dark hair, a killer body, and pouty lips that you can't help but stare at. And even though it was a crummy continuous shuffle table, we'd found our home for the afternoon.
Scotty took out a marker, we got two stacks of red chips, and we proceeded to drink the afternoon away, pretending that two old fat bald guys had any kind of shot whatsoever with this smoking-hot Bond girl dealing the cards to us.
Of course we were overtipping. And over drinking. And getting the shit kicked out of us, gambling-wise.
I wanted to put the brakes on and go to another table, or just go sit in a lounge and smoke, but Scotty would have none of that--"I don't care if I lose every dime of this marker--it's play money!"
So we stayed. And had a few more rounds. And lost our asses. When Lena went on break, we tried craps. We got up for a few minutes, but stayed too long and gave it all back.
Lena came back and we went back to the blackjack table. Chuck had won about $70 or so playing video poker and joined us, so we spent the next few hours camped at Lena's table, drooling, due to the combination of her hotness and too much alcohol.
I remember one hand in particular that pretty much sums up the day in a nutshell:
I had a $25 bet on the circle, and got two 7's against her 4. So I split, and got another 7, split again, got a fourth 7. Now I had $100 in play. My next card is a four, so I double that 11, getting a deuce for 13. Next card is a six, so my second hand is a 13 also. Next two cards are faces, so I have $125 in action, and my highest hand is a 17. Our gorgeous dealer, who we could never be angry with, turns over a ten to make a 14, so the whole table is pumped, thinking she'd bust.
Her next card is a four. She has 18 and sweeps up the table.
Talk about a kick to the balls.
Ouch!
I gave Scotty a look that said "I told you this was a bad idea..." But he just blew it off and said he didn't care, as long as we were having a good time.
I switched to bottled water, knowing that I'd probably be babysitting later.
The rest of the afternoon pretty much went the same way--we got crushed. I sat out for a long time, refusing to double Scott's losses. He finally gave up when we told the waitress to bring him no more Makers Mark, handed me all of his chips (about $70 worth) and announced that he was going to the room to change clothes and get ready for the show. We said we'd meet him up there in about half an hour.
Well, the luck instantly changed, and suddenly Chuck and I couldn't lose. Of course, playing with somebody else's bankroll, I didn't want to press it, so I couldn't take full advantage. I ended up making back a bit of cash and getting a black chip back for Scotty, while keeping a couple of red chips handy for the valet/maitre' d/waitresses we were sure to encounter over the course of the next few hours. Chuck actually got back to even and a few dollars to the positive and we decided to color up.
We headed to the cage, and then back towards the room. Chuck gave me his room key so I could use the elevator (must have a key inserted to push a button), while he went off to the sports book to get a last-minute bet in on San Antonio for game 5.
I got up to the room and Scott was not there. He was Missing in Action worse than Chuck Norris. Not only that, he didn't have a cellphone, either. And I didn't have Chuck's number. Luckily Chuck showed up a few minutes later and we were stumped as to what could've happened to Scotty.
He was pretty drunk, but nothing like some of the other T2Vers I've seen in action. But he was definitely missing, and we couldn't call him either. We tried to have him paged in the casino, but they won't do that. Security put out their version of an APB on him, and Chuck and I wandered all over the place looking for him for about half an hour. I have some friends who are pitbosses there at Red Rock, and had them looking to see if he took out other markers or if his card was in play somewhere. No luck there.
We were getting exasperated, figured that we were going to miss the show, so we decided that the best course of action would be to just hang out in the room and wait for him to show up. Just as we were heading to the hotel elevators, we saw his drunk ass stumbling out of Starbucks with a tall coffee in hand.
What's up fellas!?!?!
Scotty was definitely getting the most of his Vegas experience, and we laughed our way all the way over to the Greek Isles, once we finally found the valet ticket. I did my best Dale Jr impersonation, putting a few people into the wall on Charleston Blvd, and we pulled in 15 minutes before showtime.
I slipped the maitre' D a ten-spot and he gave us a table down front, sitting with a bunch of women. Before you think I got a bargain for my ten bucks, you should realize that these chicks were all old enough to have tossed their knickers onstage back when Benny Goodman was tearing up the charts. But they were nice, and we had a nice conversation waiting for the show to start.
It was another excellent show, and the cast was excellent, except in this version the weak link was the guy playing Dino. He didn't look like Dino at all, and only sounded like him about half the time. But Sandy Hackett was Joey Bishop, and just brought the house down time after time. And of course the guy playing Frank just *nailed* it. And Marylin Monroe--all I can say is Good Lord! Almost made us forget about Lena for a few minutes. Almost.
The show ended at 10 pm, and we were exhausted. Scotty was nodding off a bit, and I was just dead on my feet--it'd been a very long day. They had to get up early for golf, and I said goodbye and headed for home.
I was starving, so I hit the Taco Bell drive-thru for a burrito and a quesadilla on the way home.
I wanted to start writing an update, but was just too damn tired, so as soon as I finished my Taco Bell, I had a couple of Tums for dessert and went to bed.
Damn it was hard for me to get up this morning, but probably not nearly as hard as it was for Scotty. That dude's out on the golf course sweating out a fifth of Makers Mark today, drinking water by the gallon and wishing the cart girl was a hot Russian chick named Lena.
It was a damn good weekend, and I'm glad I survived it.
Next weekend Jack21 is in town and wants to hit the Tequila Bar at Isla. I'm gonna have to pace myself.
Mikey
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