Gotta love that WAX. $2 and 20 minutes to get me from Fremont to the Strip. A quick luggage drag past Tropicana, up the escalator, along the walkway, and I was checking in to Excalibur.
I mentioned that I am Royalty, and that this was My Castle, and I was glad to be back home, in My Castle.
"And to prove it, here's my card," I said, producing one of my official business cards, with a Flusherly flourish.
The front desk clerk raised an eyebrow slightly and looked dead straight at me.
For some reason, I, Royal Flusher, was not given the suite at the top of the tower, or even a suite at all. No, I, Royal Flusher, was given a room in Tower 2, on the 13th floor.
It didn't go unnoticed to me that theoretically, when they built Excalibur, the elevators could have conveniently been placed at the other ends of the towers. In this case, the hackneyed old story that they make it so you have to walk through the casino to get anywhere is deadly accurate.
The room was nice enough, one of their so-called widescreen rooms. Golly, those flat panel displays are still pretty rare these days, why not make a big deal out of it and name a room after the TV.
After getting settled in, which consisted of putting my rolly bag on a stand and having a whiz, I needed to fuel up, and found myself in Baja Fresh ordering what turned out to be a football sized burrito stuffed with all kinds of things noxious and delicious, done enchilada style, which means they put extra sauce in and around it, cover it with cheese, and add chips, a cup of salsa, and an extra shot of sour cream from the sour cream gun.
I really want a sour cream gun at home after seeing this beauty in action. It's proof that North American innovation is not dead.
After cramming down all this oniony, salsa-ey, jalapeno-ey food, I was absolutely stuffed.
I hit the machines, finding a nice bank or two or three with 9/6 Double Double Bonus. They started out cold but before too long I hit a quad.
I'd had a great lunch, I was happy, and the tunes were good.
I recognized the distinctive opening of "Accidents Will Happen", with Elvis Costello's awesome gravelly, sweet voice, and those amazing chord changes, rocking the joint. I was realllly happy.
I hit four threes for $100. I was even happier still. I've had a lot of quad 2,3,4s but was not getting the kicker.
And where was my Aces with kicker???
I went on Walkabout to my old haunts in Luxor. I also wanted to go and spend some time in Mandalay Bay, one of my least visited resorts. I've spent like 7 minutes in there total.
I wandered around Luxor and wondered what the hell they've done to the place. They are redoing the center of the casino AGAIN, I guess there is a need for 15 hip and happening youth-oriented overpriced bottle service bars in Luxor. Have they forgotten that people used to gamble here?
Didn't really play anything, and ambled through to the Walkway to the Shops in the Walkway to Mandalay Bay. I looked at this and that on the way and found myself looking at some stunning photographs, at the Peter Lik gallery.
"Come in and have a look," she said. She being an extremely Chic Art Dealer Babe, classy, long dark hair, tightish skirt.
Ohhhhh my, she was hot. And she worked in a place called - ahem - Peter Lik.
I ventured in and she started to tell me about the photos, which are huge, and in gorgeous color.
I could barely make decent conversation, realizing I'd been sweating, had a 2 day growth of beard, and burrito breath that could melt naugahyde.
"Why don't you show me your favorite?" I asked suavely, wondering what was probably stuck in my teeth from the burrito, as I managed a smile.
The Chic Art Dealer Babe took me to a scene of birch trees in a snow-filled forest.
"Isn't it beautiful?", she cooed.
"Umm, well, it's not really for me, you're talking to a Canadian and I try to get away from snow as much as I can. And I'm allergic to birch trees."
"Well hey, I'm Canadian, from the west, and this reminds me of one of my favorite places."
"I get that, since you live in the desert."
"Come with me," she said, and took me into a little room. A little windowless room with one of Peter Lik's works on the wall. And a leather couch.
My burrito fluttered a bit.
"Sit."
I sat on the comfy leather couch and she closed the door. I was in the little room alone with the Chic Art Dealer Babe. Just me, her and the leather couch.
She demonstrated how the works are actually created - they are developed gigantic pieces of film and the depth of their detail is correspondingly stunning. What was really amazing was how the image responded to different levels of light, which she turned down low. Very low. Very very low.
I kept cool and made the appropriate sounds and some cooing of my own.
Sadly, my time in the room alone with the Chic Art Dealer Babe quickly came to an end. We looked at some more images and really, I thought we hit it off well, considering that ultimately she was looking to sell me something someday.
I mentioned that Mrs. Flusher would love these images and I'd bring her back to Vegas for a Peter Lik next time we were in town.
There were other customers waiting for their turn in the little room, so I thanked her for her time and watched her strut away to help some other folks.
I have to admit, there was an extra spring in my step as I strolled down to Man-dalay Bay.
I, Royal Flusher, maker of size 7 grommets, was now circulating in the heady, high-class, champagne world of High Art.
As I walked through Mandalay Bay, I spotted a slot machine - Airplane!
I usually don't go for these themed machines but I had to give it a go. I picked the middle machine, for no particular reason, and sat down on the cool, padded seat, coddling the memory of the Chic Art Dealer Babe's high heels in the back of my mind. I smiled and slid a 20 in.
"Good luck," the machine said, "we're all counting on you."
I felt good. Fun machine, day still ahead of me, nice cool comfy seat, hit the spin button.
Cool. Why was the seat so cool? I kind of felt the material with my fingers, between my legs, at the front, nothing really amiss there I didn't think. Or was there? Was it... damp?
And then it became obvious. I could really feel it. Cool, wasn't cool anymore, it was damp. In fact it was wet. Ohhhhh NO!!!
I jumped up and looked at the seat and it was soaked with a wet, wet ass print. Punched the cash out button, FUCK YOU, Captain Over. Thanks for nothing.
I had the prospect of a good 20 minute walk through crowded public areas ahead of me to get back to the room at Excalibur.
I imagined people were staring at me already. And my ass was soaked. But soaked with... what????
Great. Just fucking great.
In just 6 minutes, I'd gone all the way from:
"I had an intimate talk in the dark private leather couch art room with the vivacious Chic Art Dealer Babe."
to
"I pissed my pants in Mandalay Bay."
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