Coffee Cracks

Day 10 and it was time to leave Mandalay Bay.

Funkhouser was down in the casino, beating the crap out of them in a last gasp to make things right. Got quite a long way, thanks to Heidi!

I ate breakfast at the Seabreeze, which is really quite a nice spot.

The usual Strip Gouge Pricing is in effect to raise revenue for all those corporate performance bonuses.

I suppose it's on par with other property's Gouge Pricing.

I thought about just having an order of Breakfast Meat (9), but I had enough resort credit for the Classic American Breakfast, even though I'm not a Classic American. But that's okay, they don't discriminate in the world of Breakfast Meat (9) and Fruit Cup (8). (Pro tip - if you're tardy, you don't get. Fruit. Cup.)

I went 'all out' and had a coffee with it, too. Oddly, my mug was cracked. Even more oddly, it was actually leaking out of the crack.

Breakfast came and it was okay. It would have been great had it been hot enough. Not cold enough to send it back, warm enough to sort of enjoy it. We savvy gamblesters can't always demand perfection, especially when time is of the essence.

Of the essence of what, I don't exactly know, but trust me, it's of some serious goddamn essence. Time is.

I did something next that is the gambling kiss of death. I should have known better.

I played in the casino of the hotel I'm about to check out of. It never ends well for me. I donked off $100 in Buffffffalo! chips, and $100 on video keno. The horseshoe must still have been asleep in its stall in the paddock.

Back in the room, I had an hour to pump out the second blog of the day, pack, get out, check out, freak out, and drive Funkhouser to the airport for his flight out.

At the parking exit kiosk, my sphinxter tightened a little - every single time this trip there has been drama at the entrance and exits of these devilish paid parking arcades.

Every Single Time. I end up almost dropping chits or cards, trying things over and over, pressing buttons, and finally wailing on the HELP button until somehow, someway the arm raises in a final 'fuck you get out of my garage, paid parking loser' salute.

This was the first time that it worked smoothly, thanks to Funkhouser's Gold MGM card.

It's a good thing we were on the road a little early, because the airport was just jammed. We spent 20 minutes in a crawl up to the American Airlines drop off.

Finally, we reached the American Airlines dropoff and I spent three minutes looking for the trunk release button. A hangover from the parking kiosk. I finally just used the key fob button, and said goodbye to Funkhouser.

I thanked him profusely and sincerely for the generosity he showed me this trip. It was truly above and beyond and I would have had some difficulties if he hadn't leaped into the breach.

We shook hands.

"I appreciate you, Funk." I said.

"'preciate you more," he said.

Time for me to get downtown where I felt I had a better shot at winning.

Paid parking everywhere (almost) means another level of stress and need of planning has been added to just complicate shit. I hate it so much.

I knew I could get parking validated at the Cal, but I had lunch planned away from the Cal, so could I get validation more than once in a day? Who knows.

Almost.

Regardless, I parked at the Cal, and did half an hour on a slant top near the Buddha. For some reason, I took a shot at the Loose Deuces (2,500 credits for four ducks) and I didn't hit it, but I did get a wild royal (sorry, no proof of purchase) and a bunch of other hands and I cashed out up $40. On the road to recovery?

After cashing out, I used the Boyd kiosk to access my account and print the parking validation chit. Then I took that to the cage to get my parking kiosk chit validated. Then I took all that chit to the car, and headed for the kiosk.

Shockingly, it all worked. I told the kiosk to fuck off anyway, just for good measure. And went on my way to meet Bobby G for a quick lunch.