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Friday, April 6, 2018

Mahalo Redeem

Why I hate Deuces Wild, part 1.
Wednesday - Day 5

Before anything else, I log on to Amazon and check the status of my Little Giant coffee maker delivery. And I see this:

Tuesday, February 27

Package has left seller facility and is in transit to carrier

So far so good - except... what??? Delivery date between March 7 and March 9? On what grounds? The feelings of coffee panic brew up from deep inside me. Forcing myself to breathe (which isn't that hard, I do it all day) I decide not to freak out just yet. It did say the Little Giant has left, so maybe those dates are wrong. I'll wait till tomorrow and check again.

Time for some eggs and sausage at the Market Street. On the way in I greet the rocker chick hostess who remembers me as Emerald, and always seats me first. It doesn't matter today because I'm headed for the counter.

Yep, that's a standard breakfast.
I finish, tip and get up. Coming into the restaurant is a man who has that 'boss' look about him. He's carrying a cardboard holder with two large cups of to-go coffee in it. Unlike everyone else in the restaurant, he is wearing a tie. A bright red tie.

As he approaches the hostess says very loudly, "Look, here comes the boss, bringing me a cup of coffee... isn't he nice?!"

The man with the tie is indeed the boss, which explains that 'boss' look he has. He doesn't play along, and just says hello. The coffees aren't for the hostess and she tries to make a joke out of it all, but it ends up falling flat. The 'boss' looking man walks by us and into the restaurant. And I walk to the cash, feeling a little bad for the hostess. I tell her to have a great day and I hope someone brings her some damn coffee. She smiles. It's good.
As I wait at the cash I see the opportunity to create some abstract photographic artwork that I can send to Joan of Aces to completely befuddle her.

I send it and she replies, "What is that?" Succinct.

My explanation is "Art. Redemption. I could tell you what it is but as an a abstract expression of mankind's eternal search for meaning, forgiveness, and a bottomless cup of coffee, I think it carries it's own weight in slightly obsessive angst."

On the way to GrommetCon for the day, I hatch a hit and run plan. I'll pick a good low volatility machine, play $20 in it, double it, and cash out the profit. I do pick a good machine, full pay Bonus Poker, with royal progressive, 50 cent machine. I play the twenty and double it. I sit and look at the screen. I want to cash out. I want to win more.

I lose the $20 profit. I lose the original twenty.

I lose a second twenty in a fit of twatness. Dejected, I leave casino gambling behind for now.

At GrommetCon, I get a bit of luck. Norbert gives me the keys to his rental car to go and pick up an emergency shipment Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer logo grommet keychains, which by the way, don't work because of the flimsy plastic construction, and have a tendency to violently pinch your hand, sometimes drawing blood.

Other than the lingering Norbert-stench in the rental, it's freedom, like Papillon catching the seventh wave. I take the city streets to the McCarran Air Cargo Center and pick up three small boxes of the horrid keychains. Two of them have been crushed so that the corners have split open in a couple of places, and they are leaking keychains. I hand six of them to the counter dweller, who immediately breaks one. On my way out the door, I hear a yelp of pain from behind the counter, followed by an expletive.

I loop around the airport, put all the windows down, look for the spot. I turn west on Sunset, along the south edge of the airport, and drive fast, waiting for my moment. With two green lights ahead of me, and nobody around, I take the rental up to 85, straddling both lanes and jettison the boxes of stupid keychains, which explode behind me like bombs of cheap marketing cheese. Keychains are flying through the air in my rear view, the boxes spinning across the roadway, dumping more of the horrid things.

Then I get onto 215 and haul ass.

I hit the Cal for lunch (soup and salad bar - do you really want to see a photo of a bowl of soup and another one of a salad?) and a session of Deuces Wild, which goes on for an hour and a quarter. I hit all kinds of odd hands, and enough good ones to keep me going.

There were these Flusher Indignities to me, about five minutes apart.

Why I hate Deuces Wild, part 1.

Why I hate Deuces Wild, part 2.
And there were these ones:
Five of a kind on the redeal.

One hand gives me a shock. I'm dealt razgu, and throw all five useless cards away. I hit draw and almost hit a royal on the redeal.

When I'm done, I take Norbert's stupid rental car back to the stupid conference. When I walk in empty-handed, Norbert gives me that 'boss' look. You know that look?

I tell him that UPS lost the shipment of Veeblefetzer key chains. I pretend to be upset and promise that 'somebody's gonna pay'.

Norbert says, "Thanks Royal, thanks for trying."

I say, "No prollem."

Then I storm off in a fake huff, and fuck off for the rest of the day. An elegant solution to a Veebleproblem.

Back where I belong, in the midst of a selection of casinos in Vegas, I assess things - because it's time to put my big risky boy blackjack pants on and man up to some match plays.

Here's what's in my arsenal:
  • $25 match play coupon (Plaza)
  • $25 match play token (Golden Gate)
  • $25 match play token (The D)
  • $5 match play token (The D)
  • $5 match play token (The D)
  • a brand new, a $5 match play coupon at the Cal for Old Fart Wednesdays
  • a genuine Royal Flusher EZ-Ultimate Blackjack Strategy Card
I regroup back in the room, check for Fuck You Tropicana Little Giant Coffee Maker delivery updates (none), and figure out my plan. There's something exciting about setting out for the casinos, having a plan of attack, not knowing how it will go. There isn't much in life that I enjoy more than those moments - heading out to fight in a theatre of war that has music and free drinks.


    1. "it's freedom, like Papillon catching the seventh wave."
      It's lines like this that make you one of the best writers of the 21st century, or the better part of this week.
      --wpete, aka lucas mccain

      1. Snort! Thanks for the chuckle! (And the compliment.)


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