Day 1 - part 2
The flight was actually pleasant. What?
Yes! I enjoyed it. I enjoyed my flight on Roudge. There I said it. How could I enjoy a Roudge flight? Well, let's see. Amazingly beautiful, professional, attentive flight attendants? Check. $40 upgrade to reasonable leg room seat? Check. Window seat? Check. Empty seat beside me? Check. Double portion of wine with hermetically sealed chicken wrap from 2013 for dinner? Check. No headwind, so shortened flight and early arrival in Vegas? Seven, seven, seven, jackpot.
Everything was working in my favor now. I was luckier than sin. I couldn’t wait to get to Vegas and start winning! It would all be as easy as Bono falling off a bike.
|Another shitty quality airplane shot of the strip at night.|
I checked in at the Golden Nugget and at the right point in the process, held out my Landry's card over while holding a discretely folded $20 bill underneath it, so the corner of it could just be seen.
"Will this get me anything?"
It did, an upgrade to a Golden Club room in the Golden Tower. I got my keys and coupons and went on up.
I stashed my stuff and searched for the safe, to no avail. Odd. Could it be that the room didn't have a safe? Erring on the side of caution, I kept my critical valuables (bankroll, slot cards, passport, Limited Edition Royal Flusher business cards, a lint-covered 'Min-t-pic', and a mini can of Hooker Spray) on my person.
Finally, I was in Vegas! It was pretty late, my time - about two in the morning. And I was tired. So, I saddled up to the first bar I saw, ordered a drink, and began my adventure. There was a band playing in the Rush lounge, I had a cold one in front of me, I'd thwarted the airline gods, and all was right with the world.
Oddly, though, things didn't go very well, except for the attention I received from the two black hookers seated three seats to my left.
"Having any luck...down there?" said Flyspot the Hooker.
"Actually... no, not really."
In fact, I'd just run out of credits. I moved one machine further way, into a corner, and slid another hundred dollar bill into the machine. With the other hand I reached under the bar an felt carefully for my Hooker Spray. It was comforting to know it was there if it turned into a full-on hooker attack.
I signaled for a refill.
"It's so easy to make new friends here!" I said to the bartender.
"Well, that depends on what kind of friends you are looking for," he replied.
"Not that kind," I said.
"If your new friends bother you, let me know."
"It's all right sir," I replied, slipping a fiver into his tip jar. "I have Hooker Spray."
My quick gamble found me quadless and down $500 in 40 minutes. How is that possible, you ask?
Well, let's see. $100 on dollar Jacks. $100 on $5 Jacks in the high limit room. $100 on a $5 slot. $100 on a machine at the bar. $100 on another machine at the bar.
No quads. $500. Forty minutes, two hookers, and two drinks.
I wanted to grab a quick bite before bed (nothwithstanding Flyspot the Hooker's availability) so I moseyed down to the Claim Jumper and asked for a quiet table up front, and ordered a Widow Maker burger.
Just as I started to relax, some moron ('Blueline' Alonso*) fired up the turbo jet engine inside the world's loudest indoor cleaning apparatus (a mountable riding carpet Zamboni, model F5 Finger of God) and started sucking the carpets practically off the floor.
*It should be noted that upon listening to my original recorded notes from this day, I referred to this employee as 'Julio Suckbuddy'.
This went on for about five minutes and then he moved away. My burger arrived, looking (and tasting) delish, except for the onion rings, which were very odd. Either there's a style of onion ring batter out of Texas that I am not familiar with and that resembled deep fried wallpaper paste, or somebody in the kitchen managed to fuck up onion rings.
|The 'lite' beer makes it all right.|
Sure enough, the F5 Beelzebub Carpet Zamboni returned, blasting my eardrums. I'd had enough.
I signed the check to my room, left a tip, and headed for my room, stopping on the way to ask about the safe at the desk. Apparently all rooms at the Nugget have a safe.
Back in my room, I searched again and this time, found it (safely) in the wall unit. It was tucked back quite a distance from the door of the cabinet it was in. Min-t-pic safely stowed, I slept and dreamed of Angelwings.
The room, in hastily taken piPhone 3.14 pictures: