Friday, May 4, 2018

Mr. Big Shot Pay It Forward Redux

Saturday Day 15 - continued

I am thinking about the coming host confrontation about having her set up a $50 comp instead of one for two people, and it makes me stressed. I can think of two or three times in this blog where I've written about an incident where I lost my temper, to some degree. In almost all cases, it becomes regrettable later.

Jury is out on the flattening of the timeshare pest.

My mind rehearses all kinds of things I might say to her, culminating with a ritual firing. And yet... my Sir Flusher Savvy-Sense tells me that maybe there is another way, one that is not as stressful for me, and one that might enable future benefits. After all, a bridge burned is a bridge that is smoking and in pieces in the gorge, and sometimes the lonely blonde who thinks you are funny and suave is winking from the other side. More likely you are being chased by a six-horned wildebeaste on the wrong side of the gorge and have lost your glasses and pooped your pants, but at this point, at least, it is a theoretical pooping of the pants.

Is it possible that after many years of somewhat unproductive, barely grateful and downright suspicious living on this planet, I have actually learned something about inter-personal firings communications?
It really is a long fucking bar.
I wander toward the slot club, and there's my host. It's go time. I walk over and she's on the phone. To my surprise, she dumps the call to talk to me.

Two rounds of greeting niceties are exchanged. Make them up yourself. You know, how are you, look great, having fun, yes having great time.

"I take it you probably had some texts and emails from last night. I asked for a comp for two, which you okayed, but there was only $50, which isn't enough for two hungry gamblers.  I had to pick up the difference. I thought I'd see what you had to say about it," I say.

"The Redwood comp... yes, I had some emails," she says.

And now the Savvy-Sense plan goes into full deployment. I say nothing and just smile. And wait.


"Honey, I'm so sorry. Did you pay cash or put it on your room or credit card?"

"I put it on the room."

"How much was the difference?"

"About $120."

"I'll take care of that for you, no problem."

Three rounds of parting niceties are exchanged. Make them up yourself. You know, flashing of teeth, I knew you would, nodding nodding, how's people, enjoying stay, bye for now.

As I walk away, I hear "I'm gonna take care of that right now!..."

I let Casey know the good news. He's headed for the D, and I still have match plays to do there, so I head over to meet him.

There's a very strange 'act' on Fremont Street. It's hard even to describe. There's a black man, a KKK outfit, and a number of 'exhibits' surrounding his performance circle, and some ranting going on. A cardboard sign says that this is satire or comedy or something. I think at the heart of it, it's a passive-aggressive rights demonstration, with lots of shock value, but a guy going "but hey- I'm only kidding - it's satire".

What could be more entertaining and comedic than putting your own labeled turd on display? And a urine sample. And some other choice items.



We have a couple at the Longbar at the D and play some video poker. It eats me alive. I think he does a little better. After dumping $60 in no time, we move on and find a blackjack table.

Our dealer is great. She been around for a long, long time, and has endless stories to tell about Vegas. I tease her about being a dancing dealer and to our shock, she stands back and shimmies like a 22 year old, maybe even better. She is hot!

I do well, until the point at which I play the match plays. They bomb. Then I play my stake into the ground, unfortunately dragging Casey along with me.

We decide to head to the El Cortez, then Casey will go back to the Grand and I'll go back to the Cal. I show him the Deuces machine I like, and we poke around a bit, but nothing magical happens and we head out of there. Three losing sessions in a row now.



Good ole Barbaric Deuces Wild is still there, but with a brand new glass. I must spend some time playing this machine one of these trips.


Back at the Cal, before dinner, I play some Super Double Double Bonus, hoping for one of the cool kicker hands, like four Queens with a King, which pays 800 credits instead of 250.

So here's the thing. I get three Queens dealt with a Jack in the middle. I consider whether or not I should hold Jack. I do not. The fourth Queen shows up in the spot next to where the Jack was. The Jack is replaced with a six.




I play for quite a while and ultimately, it's time for dinner. I know it's time for dinner because there are no more credits left, and no more twenties in my stake. Damn.

The counter seems like a good spot, and I sit down next to a woman who looks like she's been to a wedding. We get talking, and she says, "I'm here for a wedding."

One of the things I learn is that she lost her meal book, and they would not replace it. That kind of sucked. I finish my meal and say 'so long' and head up to the cashier. And then I have an idea that makes me smile.

I decide to play Mr. Big Shot Pay It Forward and go back to the counter.

"Can I just see your bill for a second?" I say.

She hands it to me and without looking at it, I say, "It's taken care of. Have a safe trip home."

She's appropriately pleased and surprised and says, "You must be one of those Mr. Big Shot Pay It Forward kinds of guys. Thank you!"

Back at the cashier, I present the two bills and tell the story. The cashier thinks this is very nice. I give her my Mr. Big Shot Pay It Forward meal book so that she can use a coupon for the woman's meal.

"Oh..." she says, "Her meal isn't covered by the coupon."

Huh. Okay, plan B. I present my blue Sapphire player's card with an appropriate flourish.

"Just use my points then."

She takes a coupon for my meal, swipes my card, I put in my Mr. Big Shot Pay It Forward PIN and voila.

"Oh..." she says. "You don't have enough points."

Christ. That's because I gambled most of my points as free play.

"I don't have enough points."

"You don't have enough points."

"No problem, I'll just cover the remainder of the woman's meal with cash. How much is the difference?"

She tells me it's five dollars, and I whip out my Mr. Big Shot Pay It Forward wallet with an appropriate flourish.

"Oh..." I say. "I don't have enough dollars."

Staring back at me from my wallet is four dollar bills.

"I have four dollars," I say. I am now only 24 inches tall and bright red.

"I think it's sweet taking care of her meal. I'll put the extra dollar in myself," she says.

She whips out a crisp dollar note from her Ms. Big Shot Pay It Forward wallet, and I'm out of there and back to the room.

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