Leaving Las Vegas (Part 2 of 2)
I awoke the next morning (really, just 4 hours later) with a massive headache and a sprained ankle that I must have sustained during our long walk home. It's amazing what a human can and can't do in moments of complete drunkenness. I found my shirt, blazer, and jeans neatly on hangers, with camera, phone and wallet intact, but I forgot to take my socks off or contacts out. The rest of our party stumbled their way in from the other hotel room, and we began to laugh about what had happened mere hours ago. Kent was still in shock at spending over 6000 dollars at the strip club. Seeing as how we all participated, and because we're all gentlemen, we all agreed to send him a check. Worth it.
But before I can do that, I had to win my money back. "Let's go out there and win me some money!" I whined, like only a Jew Hollywood agent can do. (I had CK load the Vegas Entourage episode on his mp3 player, and literally watched it four times on the flight, back to back.) Kent regaled us with stories of his morning, how he spent 45 minutes on the phone with his credit card company, seeing if he went over his limit, and then how, still in shock, he dropped another 100 dollars at the blackjack tables, with a side of Red Bull, Tylenol, and pit boss sanctioned potato chips. Irritated at the rest of the guys refusal to sack up and head down to the casino floors, I went alone.
First things first. Gotta get revenge at the Pai Gow table. They have an option where you can buy a bonus hand, and if you hit something ridiculous like a straight flush, then you can win 50 times your bonus bet. Which is exactly what happened. Spades, 4 through 8, turned 1 dollar into 50. Percentage-wise, that's huge. And that's when I knew my luck was about to change for the better.
After a dollar menu breakfast (not my idea, I voted for the breakfast buffet at the Bellagio) I headed across the street to the Mirage, where I discovered I had a knack for rolling 2's and 12's at the craps table. Some guy tipped me 50 bucks for winning him 450 (hi/lo, parlayed twice). Also, I've learned the key to finding a hot table in craps is finding a group of bros at the table having a good time and ride the karma. Thanks to a group of Florida country club golf pros, I turned 200 into just south of 500.
It's a little unsettling how fast time flies in Vegas, and how they structure the casinos to keep you there as long as possible. After four hours on my feet, ten Heinekens, three bottles of water, and no bathroom visits, it was time to take a little break. I met up with the rest of the crew for a buffet (finally) where we told more stripper stories that trickled back into our collective memories throughout the day. Apparently I got a little spank-happy in the VIP room. Ah, Vegas.
We decide to walk down the Strip and go to the Bellagio, to see the fountain shows, and to see if I can press my luck at the craps tables here. Here's the thing about walking down the Strip. You get a bunch of people handing you cards for female entertainment, with special prices and promises of arriving at your hotel room in 20 minutes or less. I amassed quite a collection of these by the time the trip was over.
I found a hot craps table at the Bellagio and was doing pretty well, until an old Jewish guy asked me to guess his age. I guessed 60. He said he was 78. And then he guessed that I was 35. And then he asked if all Asian people are predisposed to gambling. And then he told me that he was down six thousand dollars for the day. This old Jew cooled the shit out of me. I'm already averse to people touching me while I'm gambling (something I developed after watching Intacto) but this I had no defense for. Plus my Dr. Kelso attitude towards all casino workers wasn't helping, calling everyone sport or sweetheart, and staring down the dresses of the cocktail waitresses. The Bellagio was not built by the money of winners.
Five hundred dollars lighter (and now broke) I walked further down the Strip to meet CK and the guys on a street corner. They had commandeered a series of sidewalk benches, camped out with a case of beer and started harassing people. CK owes me a 40 dollar hooker because of all the money I won him at craps, and after getting cleaned out, now would be a good time as any to capitalize. I sort through my stack of naked lady cards and I find Briana, a very cute looking brunette with a $35 dollar special. The call went more or less like this:
Me: Hi, I'd like to order Briana, please.
Lady on phone: Ok, no problem, where are you staying, I can have her up to your room in 20 minutes.
Me: It's 35 dollars, right?
Lady: Actually sir, its 165, the normal price is 200 dollars, but the 35 dollar special means we take off 35 dollars from the price.
Me: Oh. We'll can I fuck her at least?
Lady: Sir, prostitution is illegal in Clark County, but I'm sure two consenting adults can work out an agreement.
Creepy Khoa, grabbing the phone: HEY HOW MUCH FOR AN ANAL TRAIN?
Lady: Sir, I'm sure consenting adults can work out an agreement.
I hung up the phone after that. It's good to know that some people have worse jobs than I do.
We head over to the MGM Grand to play blackjack. I borrowed 100 bucks from DYW (who I already owe money for the hotel room, and who is up around two thousand for the trip at this point) and try to make it last five more hours until I have to get to the airport. Fifteen minutes later, I'm down to 40 dollars. This is not good. At the next table, I hear a commotion. Someone just bet two thousand on a single hand of blackjack, won, and left. You always want to take over a hot seat in Vegas. Forty dollars quickly turns into two hundred, and after paying back DYW, I'm faced with a decision. "'Ladies, don't you always double down on eleven?' 'Always. No matter what. Like splitting aces.'" Well not fucking always, I split my damn aces and got hit with a 2 on each of them. Can't stay hot forever, even if Turtle can. I cash out 50 bucks and walk back to Treasure Island, fully intent on grabbing a shower and a 3 hour nap before my flight.
I see the Mirage on the way back. Remembering the past successes I had there, I felt that I owed it to myself to try again. I found a table where a group of frat guys had taken over, one of which insisted on talking like a carnival barker for the entire duration of his roll. He was followed by the guy who gave high fives (I broke my no touching rule for this one), and succeeded by two older Asians who seem to have mastered the art of throwing sixes and eights. Fifty dollars turned into three hundred, and I had just enough time after that to grab a shower, pack up, and go. Not a bad way to end a Vegas weekend.
But before I can do that, I had to win my money back. "Let's go out there and win me some money!" I whined, like only a Jew Hollywood agent can do. (I had CK load the Vegas Entourage episode on his mp3 player, and literally watched it four times on the flight, back to back.) Kent regaled us with stories of his morning, how he spent 45 minutes on the phone with his credit card company, seeing if he went over his limit, and then how, still in shock, he dropped another 100 dollars at the blackjack tables, with a side of Red Bull, Tylenol, and pit boss sanctioned potato chips. Irritated at the rest of the guys refusal to sack up and head down to the casino floors, I went alone.
First things first. Gotta get revenge at the Pai Gow table. They have an option where you can buy a bonus hand, and if you hit something ridiculous like a straight flush, then you can win 50 times your bonus bet. Which is exactly what happened. Spades, 4 through 8, turned 1 dollar into 50. Percentage-wise, that's huge. And that's when I knew my luck was about to change for the better.
After a dollar menu breakfast (not my idea, I voted for the breakfast buffet at the Bellagio) I headed across the street to the Mirage, where I discovered I had a knack for rolling 2's and 12's at the craps table. Some guy tipped me 50 bucks for winning him 450 (hi/lo, parlayed twice). Also, I've learned the key to finding a hot table in craps is finding a group of bros at the table having a good time and ride the karma. Thanks to a group of Florida country club golf pros, I turned 200 into just south of 500.
It's a little unsettling how fast time flies in Vegas, and how they structure the casinos to keep you there as long as possible. After four hours on my feet, ten Heinekens, three bottles of water, and no bathroom visits, it was time to take a little break. I met up with the rest of the crew for a buffet (finally) where we told more stripper stories that trickled back into our collective memories throughout the day. Apparently I got a little spank-happy in the VIP room. Ah, Vegas.
We decide to walk down the Strip and go to the Bellagio, to see the fountain shows, and to see if I can press my luck at the craps tables here. Here's the thing about walking down the Strip. You get a bunch of people handing you cards for female entertainment, with special prices and promises of arriving at your hotel room in 20 minutes or less. I amassed quite a collection of these by the time the trip was over.
I found a hot craps table at the Bellagio and was doing pretty well, until an old Jewish guy asked me to guess his age. I guessed 60. He said he was 78. And then he guessed that I was 35. And then he asked if all Asian people are predisposed to gambling. And then he told me that he was down six thousand dollars for the day. This old Jew cooled the shit out of me. I'm already averse to people touching me while I'm gambling (something I developed after watching Intacto) but this I had no defense for. Plus my Dr. Kelso attitude towards all casino workers wasn't helping, calling everyone sport or sweetheart, and staring down the dresses of the cocktail waitresses. The Bellagio was not built by the money of winners.
Five hundred dollars lighter (and now broke) I walked further down the Strip to meet CK and the guys on a street corner. They had commandeered a series of sidewalk benches, camped out with a case of beer and started harassing people. CK owes me a 40 dollar hooker because of all the money I won him at craps, and after getting cleaned out, now would be a good time as any to capitalize. I sort through my stack of naked lady cards and I find Briana, a very cute looking brunette with a $35 dollar special. The call went more or less like this:
Me: Hi, I'd like to order Briana, please.
Lady on phone: Ok, no problem, where are you staying, I can have her up to your room in 20 minutes.
Me: It's 35 dollars, right?
Lady: Actually sir, its 165, the normal price is 200 dollars, but the 35 dollar special means we take off 35 dollars from the price.
Me: Oh. We'll can I fuck her at least?
Lady: Sir, prostitution is illegal in Clark County, but I'm sure two consenting adults can work out an agreement.
Creepy Khoa, grabbing the phone: HEY HOW MUCH FOR AN ANAL TRAIN?
Lady: Sir, I'm sure consenting adults can work out an agreement.
I hung up the phone after that. It's good to know that some people have worse jobs than I do.
We head over to the MGM Grand to play blackjack. I borrowed 100 bucks from DYW (who I already owe money for the hotel room, and who is up around two thousand for the trip at this point) and try to make it last five more hours until I have to get to the airport. Fifteen minutes later, I'm down to 40 dollars. This is not good. At the next table, I hear a commotion. Someone just bet two thousand on a single hand of blackjack, won, and left. You always want to take over a hot seat in Vegas. Forty dollars quickly turns into two hundred, and after paying back DYW, I'm faced with a decision. "'Ladies, don't you always double down on eleven?' 'Always. No matter what. Like splitting aces.'" Well not fucking always, I split my damn aces and got hit with a 2 on each of them. Can't stay hot forever, even if Turtle can. I cash out 50 bucks and walk back to Treasure Island, fully intent on grabbing a shower and a 3 hour nap before my flight.
I see the Mirage on the way back. Remembering the past successes I had there, I felt that I owed it to myself to try again. I found a table where a group of frat guys had taken over, one of which insisted on talking like a carnival barker for the entire duration of his roll. He was followed by the guy who gave high fives (I broke my no touching rule for this one), and succeeded by two older Asians who seem to have mastered the art of throwing sixes and eights. Fifty dollars turned into three hundred, and I had just enough time after that to grab a shower, pack up, and go. Not a bad way to end a Vegas weekend.
posted by Eric at 11:34 AM
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