Good morning, all...
Apparently, the road to my own personal hell *is* paved with good intentions, because I really wanted to have another update posted first thing this morning, but damn, I just didn't have the energy to write last night--as soon as I sat down at the keyboard, it was lights out. I managed to get a bit of emailing done and check a few other things, but other than that, it was sleepy time.
So yesterday, as you recall, I got called in to work just about the time I'd loaded up the new washing machine with all of my work shirts. And there was no dryer available. So I did my usual morning toilette, got dressed, and then grabbed one of my shirts from the washing machine once the spin cycle ended.
It was time to leave to head back to the casino anyways, so just as I was heading for the front door, the dogs started to go apeshit, indicating that there was somebody in the yard or driveway. It was USPS messenger guy, delivering a package that I had to sign for--yes, finally, my Amoxicillin had arrived. It was about damn time--the cold symptoms are pretty much all gone, but I can't kick this cough. Anyhow, as soon as I signed the card and got my meds, the guy looked at me and said Heading back to the casino, huh? Didn't you just get off work a couple of hours ago?
Well, that gave me a chuckle--it turns out that the mailman had been playing poker at my table the day before.
So, I opened the padded envelope, popped a pill, and hopped in the truck. I rolled down the window and held my wet shirt outside, aiming to dry it in the breeze as I drove to the casino. I backed out of the driveway without looking, like an idiot, and noticed just a bit too late that I'd backed out in front of one of my neighbors coming up the road in his BMW. I caught a glimpse of him, but avoided eye contact since I was probably pissed him off by backing out without seeing him. I took off, driving a bit faster than I should, so I could escape the dirty look of the guy behind me, and to put more air over my shirt and hopefully get it to dry before I got to work.
But his car is as fast as my truck, and when we got to the stoplight up on Horizon Ridge, he pulled up next to me, honked, and motioned to me to roll down the window.
Great, I thought, this guy wants to cuss me out...
As soon as I rolled down the window on the passenger's side, the guy in the BMW leaned over and said Hey--are you Hurricane Mikey?
That caught me totally off guard, but I told him that yes, I was. He then said Well I'm a big fan of your site! I'll email you later!
I gave him the thumbs up, and just then, the light turned green, I turned, and he went straight. I kinda went the 'back way' to the casino, driving through the subdivisions, just so I wouldn't draw so much attention to myself with my wet shirt flappin' in the breeze.
It seemed to do the trick, as by the time I got to the parking garage, my shirt was only slightly damp. I put it on, strolled in to the poker room, and spent the next eight full hours doing my thing.
I was so happy to be called in again on Monday. Like I said, after last week's debacle, any and all shifts are much appreciated. And luckily we were good and busy yesterday, too. For a bit, though, I thought I'd only get a couple of hours in--I saw that a new group of dealers were coming in at 3 and 4 o'clock. But I forgot to account for the fact that the early morning dealers would be going home. So when the swing shift floorman asked me if I wanted to stay until eight pm, I believe my response was Oh hell yeah I do!
Actually by late afternoon, there was no way I could've gotten out even if I wanted to--we got really busy and they kept opening new games. At one point, I believe I pushed five or six tables in a row--three hours of dealing without a break.
When 8 pm finally rolled around, I was good and ready to get out of there. I'd run out of cough drops, and one antibiotic pill wasn't enough to keep me from coughing, so it was getting hard on me. But I was in that happy place where I'd made so many tokes that every time I leaned over the table, the chips would spill out of my pocket. So when I got pushed out for the last time, I colored up with the cashier once more, clocked out, said goodbye to everyone, and ran over to Fatburger to get a Coke--I was dying of thirst, having not had a sip of water for over three hours by that point, and my throat was raw.
I wandered over to the pit because I saw all of my old swing shift buddies working, and one of the guys was sitting on a dead Deuces Wild game. So I went over to chat with him for a bit and he gave me all the latest gossip and news from the table games crew. And further improving my day, Kimmy came strolling by, so we got to talk for a few minutes too. That always makes me happy.
But I was absolutely exhausted by then--I'm certainly not used to working those eight-hour days anymore, and Sunday and Monday were both just crazy-busy for me. I had a pretty good weekend, money-wise, but damn, I earned every cent. (Sunday was a story all on it's own, but since I'm not allowed to talk about it, I'm writing it down for that tell-all book that gets published once I leave the casino biz for good...)
I was really hungry when I left the casino, and I needed to go to the grocery store anyways. But I really wanted to go over to Pie Town and get another polish dog for dinner. As much as I wanted to do that though, I was just too tired and it was out of the way. And I needed to get home and put my clothes in the dryer and get a second load going.
So instead of going to the store or going out to dinner, I just came straight home. My roommate told me that the dryer was good to go, so I took care of the laundry issues and then stumbled up to my room, too tired to bother with messing around in the kitchen and getting something to eat. So I skipped dinner altogether last night, and just went upstairs, took a shower, and went to bed.
Luckily, my laptop doesn't need to be on the desk, so I checked my mail before checking out. This is the message that was waiting for me:
Hurricane Mikey,
Ok, I swear I'm not a stalker. (Or if I am, at least it's better than me being a secret admirer.)
Yes, I'm the nut who rolled up next to you this morning.
Here's the story. I found your blog a few weeks ago and have been reading it ever since. I even went out and found your epic 2004 March Madness post (on T2V I think). Damn, that was long but good.
Anyway, you're always describing local hotspots (Grimaldi's, Steak, etc.) and it got me thinking that you must live somewhere near me. I've read about you mentioning the great view, etc. and for a brief moment I thought, could he live right near here? But then I thought no way, Henderson's big and there are hundreds of neighborhoods. [The view is huge deal for me as it is one of the reasons that I bought my house in this neighborhood.]
So when you pulled out of your driveway this morning, the first thing that caught my eye was your license plate -- BFOONRY or whatever. Then I read the license plate holder -- Hurricane Mikey's Casino / Brothel / whatever. And then, I think, "NO WAY" (yes, I thought it all in caps). And then I'm thinking, "What are the odds?" I'd insert a joke here about the betting line for this situation, but I can't come up with anything funny. (You're probably thinking that about the rest of my email as well--but it's all done as a poor imitation of your awesome humor.) So what's my point? As I said, I'm a huge fan of your blog. Great writing, great stories, and funny as all hell.
I can't believe I'm bookended by poker celebrities. Not sure if you know (you probably do) but Mike Matusow lives a couple blocks south of you.
Hope to see you soon.
Thanks,
-Rick
So that was cool. I wrote him back, and yeah, he mentioned that he noticed me doing my best to dry my shirt on the way to work, too. But he was too polite to say anything about it the first time he contacted me. But he hasn't made it over to Grimaldi's yet, so we're gonna get over there one of these days pretty soon and I'll introduce him to the culinary perfection that he's been missing out on.
But after all that, I was done. Too tired to eat, too tired to write, and too tired to watch SportsCenter, I called it a night and crashed hard.
Around 12:30 in the morning, my phone was ringing again, though. Yep, it was work. The graveyard floorman asked me if I wanted to come in and pick up a shift. I told him that I totally would, but that I'd just gotten off work less than five hours earlier, and if I came back, we'd both get in trouble. (I can do a split shift, but if I put in a full eight hours, I'm not allowed back for 16 more unless it's an emergency. They'd have to pay me overtime then, and we all know that the casino can't afford to pay anyone ten bucks an hour...)
I think his exact words were Oh shit--I didn't even see you on the list! So he said to go back to bed and he'd call somebody else. But I told him that I'm free tonight, just in case he needs somebody.
After that, I pretty much slept for almost eight hours straight, and it was just what I needed. I feel a bit rejuvenated, and if I get called in again today or tonight, I'd be just fine with it. Otherwise, I'm not gonna do too much. I may go down and squeeze as much of the $1.96 per gallon gas into my tank as can fit (first time in over six years I've seen gas less than two bucks!), then go to the grocery store, and if I still have some time, I'll make it over to Pie Town for lunch.
Mikey
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