Day 11, Friday May 26, 2017 - continued
For my quadruple or bust Strict Rules of Parlay attempt I decided on pure, old fashioned Jacks or Better on a beat up old upright machine with a nice view overlooking the craps tables at the California.
I popped the donated $20 in and got busy. I plugged along for quite a little while and dropped all the way down to $2.50. Uh-oh. Don't go out!!!
I worked my way up to about the $35 mark, within spitting distance of the $40 needed to parlay.
And then it was back to the $20 mark, where I hovered until...
Hey, nailed a quad! The third set of Queens of the evening. I haven't seen that many queens in one night since Mardi Gras.
I played one more hand to even it up and by the yellowing teeth of Jimmy Poon, it was time to parlay from quarters to 50 cents. So far so good!
This went pretty well too, and I worked my way toward the $80 mark, where it would be time to move up another level.
I played for a while, had a drink or two, and tried to cement in my memory the sights, sounds, and yes, smells, of the casino. Tomorrow it would all be behind me and I always try to see if I can remember enough detail to relive it. And I never can. It's always bits and pieces, visual snapshots. There's just no way to bottle a Las Vegas casino and take it home.
Hit $80 and it was time to move to dollars. You can imagine all the thoughts bouncing around my head like keno balls. Last night of the trip... Strict Rules of Parlay... now playing dollars... could I nail a huge score after being all the way down to $2.50?
I switched the denomination to dollars and played.
Oh, it was cruel. Sickeningly cruel. Hand after hand after hand of nothing. Then a pair. Then nothing. Two pair. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
It took less than a minute to undo it all and I was pissed. And disappointed for T.H. because I wanted a nice story to tell. This'll have to do.
The night wasn't going to end with a triumphant long-shot win so incredulous that it would have readers shrieking "FAKE BLOG". No, it was going to end with a couple more twenties into the machines and then crying "Uncle!".
|A slot machine can never be happy until it is loved by a degenerate.|
And dammit, I felt good. I would have liked to have taken home $1000 in winnings but again, who could complain?
Okay, I could. And that's the thing, that's part of the Royal Flusher Way - to wring every last possible cent out of those cards, dice and machines. That's always the goal.
The next day I had a noon flight out or something like that - something humane. Enough time for breakfast, play an illegal $20 that nobody knows about, say some goodbyes. Soon it was time to haul my shit to the Asshat and drive south to the Triple A Car Rental Ranch.
Avis (and I'm sure other companies) have car return down to a freaking well-oiled machine artform. Literally 60 seconds and you have a receipt and are schlepping happily along the oil and chewing gum petroglyphs on the asphalt parking lot.
I had this idea that I'd take my time in the terminal and have a leisurely bite before boarding my flight. Same idea I had in Toronto, remember?
But first! A couple of airport machines. Nothing happened but one of the machines had an Aces kicker on it on Triple Double for $1000. I smiled. Somebody was happy.
Shoulda been ME ME ME ME.
Next stop, duty free. They promised me, even though I would exit the secure area at Pearson, that with their quilted tyvek booze condom I'd be allowed to fly in style with my booze by my side from Toronto to Ottawa.
I decided it was worth a try. Should I get Maker's? Gentleman Jack? Buffalo Trace? (BEEEFFFALLOOOO!!!).
Naw... I got something for the Quad Queen, something not bourbon. I'd still sneak some later anyway.
OK, I can deal.
Stupidly, I ordered a Double Drip Greeseburger from Carl's Jr.
Maybe I've said this before, but Carl's Jr. is a fucking scam.
No, it is.
I have never - ever - ever - seen a Carl's (let alone a Carl's Sr.) ANYWHERE. Junior my bony ass. Just once I'd like to go to a Carl's and ask it how the kid restaurants are doing.
So yeah, I thought I had lots of time to enjoy a leisurely Carl's Jr. Explosionburger and after I ordered, it took forever for them to call my number (sadly, not 69). And I could hear the WestJet Sheilas making loudspeaker wah-wah-wah noises. Shit, was I going to miss my flight?
My wonderful trip ended sadly, with me standing in the boarding line with all my stuff and wolfing down a Carl's Jr. Double Drip Greezeburger, ooze and cheese and mustard all over my doughboy face, whilst hovering over the garbage can, which was full to overflowing. All that was missing was an alley full of used hypodermics.
Where was a safe digestion site when you needed one?
But hey, I even managed to squirt some ketchup on that Jr. sucker and when it was all over, my shirt was still 'clean'. Not really clean, but devoid of any Carl's Jr. detritus or burgerly fluids.
Cradle that baby all the way home!
The trip home was good. Everything lined up and before I knew it I had collected my 84 Toyota Tercel and was grinding my way from Ottawa home to Flusherville.
And that's it! This one is in the bag.
But before I wrap up, some exciting developments...
Initially, they turned down my claim. I fought back hard with an extremely effective email written in very professionally executed somewhat miffed tone. I threatened to cross my arms at them. It works with Chippy. I didn't hear anything back, and it's now been about 60 days since the whole fucked up charade started.
Well just yesterday, there it was, an envelope. In my mailbox!
The best part? I also got a 25% discount on a future flight - for up to four people.
Who wants to come to Vegas?!
OK, next bit of business, obviously I did great with comps. Didn't pay for a room night, paid for internet because of my own dumb ass stupidity and a crap host who didn't give a shit.
I added it up to something like $1700 for rooms, food and free play.
My final win was $570.
So what's next for Flushiepants?
Well, first of all, thanks for reading. Shoutouts to people like Pam who hit me with comments that keep me enthused about posting, just at the right moments.
There will be more adventures, although some of them may not be what you expect.
And, I'm going to put my feet up and listen to a rare old Royal Flusher Records vinyl disc from my collection, to celebrate the Long Playing 33 1/3 Trip Report.
See you at the tables!