Day 11 - Part 2
I pushed the 'folio' button on the TV and wondered where the 'file' and 'dossier' buttons were. Surely they had a dossier on me. I'm important enough to have a dossier!
In reviewing the room folio, I found that I - Royal Flusher, Once Degenerate and Now Savvy Gamblester, Knave of the Cheap Bastard Realm, Slayer of Nickels, Offender of Cocktail Sheilas - owed money for my room.
I had a bill that was not $0.00. It was scandalous! It was shocking! It was an outrage! It was $8.85!!!
That's for the overage at dinner one night, and a Starbuck's coffee I didn't admit to having in this here
About Having A Cheap TripOn my previous foray to the Meadows I lost approximately $5000 over a couple of weeks. (I know right? Oopsies!!!!) The previous trip, I did much better. And the previous trip to that I lost. And on all those trips, I played certain levels of dollars, often hitting $10,000 coin in at various places.
What has made this trip possible is the offers that come as a result of a) playing heavily and b) losing one's ass.
It has to be remembered that I can't do this trip after trip. The offers will dry up if I don't play. Doing $2000 coin in over three days at a property is rapidly going to net me nothing but those generic 'discount with coupons for 5% off whatever Slop In The Box fast food we have on site'.
But for now, for this trip, man, I'm taking advantage. And it feels good to be clawing back some of that $5K in free rooms, free resort fees, free food, and free gambling money.
And just to prove that it is impossible to figure out how some of these slot club programs work, particularly MLife, chew on this.
I just got an offer from Luxor that has more freeplay and more resort credit than any offer I've received thus far. So there will still be some goodies to be had this fall.
There is a casino way out Henderson way, for which I had coupons. Emerald Island. I thought that would be a good destination, as some of my fellow bloggers (iputmylifeonashelf.com) have been there. Sometimes you just have to throw a dart at the map and go to it.
There was something else in mind - something bugging me.
When I went out taking pictures of the Lost Vegas Motels of East Fremont, I felt like I had missed something. And in particular, the angel figure stuck up on the pole bothered me. I had a few distant pictures of it, but it needed to be properly explored.
And I felt like I had missed some signs, in my irrational haste to get out of the area, so as not to be murdered and killed.
That was on my mind too.
I forged a plan, which included a stop at Sam's Town, and set out.
The Boulder Highway fucking sucks. It sucks sweaty 105 degree trucker's week old ballsack underwear balls.
You drive at 40 or 45 for 3 minutes, then wait for a light. Then you drive at 40 or 45 for 3 more minutes, then wait for a light.
Keep this up for what seems like twenty fucking miles.
Emerald Island is... way the fuck out there. If there was a better way to get there, I'd like to know. Actually, I would not like to know, I'm never going there again. I spent the better part of an hour in 150 degree heat, sweating, lurching, looking, trying to get my stupid piPhone to play the goddamn directions in Google Maps, and listening to the first 32 bars of fucking "A.M. Mourning" by Chicago over and over. I pulled over to consult the detailed 1.3" screen on the piPhone to try to figure out where I was, and where I needed to go. I guessed at turns. I guessed at streets.
I actually managed to get myself to the basic area and turn right off Boulder Ballbusting Highway. Then overdrove. Turned left. Followed some curving road which went everywhere except Emerald Shitbox Island. Stopped. Consulted. Turned again. Saw some great loser houses with beat up but over-decorated pick-up trucks out front that screamed "I HAVE NO DICK".
Went too far. Turned around. Went to the other side of it. Where was Emerald Island???
This process took forever and for some reason I had just had enough of screwing around. I saw the Boulder Fuck Me Highway and hit the gas.
I am certain that many, many times I was within one minute of the Emerald Hidden In Suburbia Casino and all of a sudden... it was like that moment when you put your fist through a wall, or completely crunchle up the instructions for a model you've been trying to help a kid with, or stomp on a pair of glasses you have been trying to repair with a screw that measures the same width as a bacteria's dick... you just lose it and punch the gas - punch it, baby... punch it... PUNCH IT!!!! And burn rubber onto the Boulder Fucking Highway for about 2.3 seconds and then screech to zero, straining against the seat belt because you just hit the 900th red light of the morning and scream FUCK!
The heat does things to one's patience.
With that, I made my way to someplace I couldn't fail to find - Sam's Town, which is not really a town. It should have been called Sam's Casino Full of Retiree's and People Who Live In RVs And Only Do Laundry Once Every Six Months. But that wouldn't have fit on the fucking sign, now would it.