Vegas Rant Below
This is my email summary of my NBA weekend in Vegas so far that I sent out to some friends at about 4am last night.
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Alright, this city is beyond crazy for all star weekend. I swear their are more wannabe gangsters per square inch than you could find per square mile in any city in America. It took me 20 minutes just to park once I got to MGM, and thankfully I avoided getting shot... hopefully most of these guys flew in and are weaponless, because apparently there's something about a guy in a lucchese shirt, boot cut jeans, leather jacket, and kangaroo skin boots that sets em off.
Let's back up, I get here, and my roomate didn't put the cover on the Stang like he promised he would, AND he's let someone else use my room and I can't get ahold of him. He finally calls me back and it's (roommate) Kelly's hot friend who is in town tonight, so I'm no longer pissed, but anyway. Then I leave my cell phone with (pokerchick) Nancy, both my roommates, and my other poker friends numbers on it at home. It was dead anyway, but it at least had enough juice to retrieve numbers. To top it off, my other cell phone dies before I get to talk to Keith or anyone else. This means, I have my brain, my cash, and my credit cards to survive, but not a single local friend to rescue me if I get in trouble... do not let your cell phones die, ever.
Anyway, I did something stupid tonight and tried a new casino (MGM) for poker b/c I heard it was good, and I was hoping to stick around long enough and get lucky enough to play with Bill Simmons. Well, besides the fake gangstas and hoochies, all of the staff except for two were rude... probably exasperated by the people pretending to have money. It's the biggest weekend in recent memory for local vegas folks, you could hardly walk through the MGM, but... there was no game higher than $2/$5 going at MGM. NONE. I was the only person on the interest list for 5/10, and as pissed off as I was it's probably a good thing. I sit down at the table, some guy one table over collapses, turns out he's either crazy or drunk, but the MGM doesn't f*** around. They strapped his a** to a gurney despite his protests and attempts to get away and carted him out in no time. Some drunk dude at the table lost a $26k pot at Bellagio to runner, runner quads a (he was 1 in 998 to lose, seriously), but I didn't care because he repeated the story about 20 times but wasn't donking off his $200 buy in fast enough. The dealers were insulting the players, and then miscounting chips. I can handle the insults a little, but at least do your job, and don't expect tips if you hate us so much. The waitress went on a lunch break (after midnight) and the waitresses at tables next to us wouldn't even give us a water. Anyway, I decided to leave... well, it was a 3 hour wait to just get out of the free self park garage. People on the 3rd floor had already been waiting an hour, so I walked 5 (big) blocks over to the Four Seasons to catch a cab. Two cabs turned me down... like, drove off with me attached to the door handle because I was going to a residence. One dude caught a limo who charged him $75 just to cross the street. I finally get a cab, and some (either fake or real) big shot who has like 4 inches and 75 pounds on me yanks the door open and asks me where I'm catching a cab to. I told him the corner near my house, and he said "bull shit". I told him to get out of my f****** cab, and he yelled back to get my f****** finger out of his face. I had pretty much had enough at this point so I shoved him out and slammed the door shut. Either the shock at someone actually pushing back at him or the crazed look I faked in my eyes apparently made him think twice about throwing down in front of the Four. The cabbie said, "I don't know what that was about, but let's get out of here." Nicest person (besides my 6'2 darn good looking roomate who I talked to in her tight bathrobe for 30 minutes once I got home, but that's another story) that I met since I got here. He's 75, twice retired and twice unretired, moved here from South Central LA after the Rodney King riots, and only charged me $12 for the ride home and didn't even protest leaving the strip.
Let's see, high points. I didn't get killed at the tables, and was smart enough to leave. I'm in Vegas, which is always better than the office. I had chipotle on the way to the MGM, and even the fact that I got verde sauce on my shirt can't ruin the joy of that. I met the owner of two bars in Austin and we really hit it off so my streak of Vegas networking success continues. He's going to the All Star Game tomorrow courtesy of the owner of the Spurs (I think). Let's see.. oh, apparently there's something about the above clothing description of me and a pissed off look that makes women stuck in traffic on the strip want to talk to me... or maybe it's because I was the only guy in sight without gold teeth and a doo rag, I dunno.
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Alright, this city is beyond crazy for all star weekend. I swear their are more wannabe gangsters per square inch than you could find per square mile in any city in America. It took me 20 minutes just to park once I got to MGM, and thankfully I avoided getting shot... hopefully most of these guys flew in and are weaponless, because apparently there's something about a guy in a lucchese shirt, boot cut jeans, leather jacket, and kangaroo skin boots that sets em off.
Let's back up, I get here, and my roomate didn't put the cover on the Stang like he promised he would, AND he's let someone else use my room and I can't get ahold of him. He finally calls me back and it's (roommate) Kelly's hot friend who is in town tonight, so I'm no longer pissed, but anyway. Then I leave my cell phone with (pokerchick) Nancy, both my roommates, and my other poker friends numbers on it at home. It was dead anyway, but it at least had enough juice to retrieve numbers. To top it off, my other cell phone dies before I get to talk to Keith or anyone else. This means, I have my brain, my cash, and my credit cards to survive, but not a single local friend to rescue me if I get in trouble... do not let your cell phones die, ever.
Anyway, I did something stupid tonight and tried a new casino (MGM) for poker b/c I heard it was good, and I was hoping to stick around long enough and get lucky enough to play with Bill Simmons. Well, besides the fake gangstas and hoochies, all of the staff except for two were rude... probably exasperated by the people pretending to have money. It's the biggest weekend in recent memory for local vegas folks, you could hardly walk through the MGM, but... there was no game higher than $2/$5 going at MGM. NONE. I was the only person on the interest list for 5/10, and as pissed off as I was it's probably a good thing. I sit down at the table, some guy one table over collapses, turns out he's either crazy or drunk, but the MGM doesn't f*** around. They strapped his a** to a gurney despite his protests and attempts to get away and carted him out in no time. Some drunk dude at the table lost a $26k pot at Bellagio to runner, runner quads a (he was 1 in 998 to lose, seriously), but I didn't care because he repeated the story about 20 times but wasn't donking off his $200 buy in fast enough. The dealers were insulting the players, and then miscounting chips. I can handle the insults a little, but at least do your job, and don't expect tips if you hate us so much. The waitress went on a lunch break (after midnight) and the waitresses at tables next to us wouldn't even give us a water. Anyway, I decided to leave... well, it was a 3 hour wait to just get out of the free self park garage. People on the 3rd floor had already been waiting an hour, so I walked 5 (big) blocks over to the Four Seasons to catch a cab. Two cabs turned me down... like, drove off with me attached to the door handle because I was going to a residence. One dude caught a limo who charged him $75 just to cross the street. I finally get a cab, and some (either fake or real) big shot who has like 4 inches and 75 pounds on me yanks the door open and asks me where I'm catching a cab to. I told him the corner near my house, and he said "bull shit". I told him to get out of my f****** cab, and he yelled back to get my f****** finger out of his face. I had pretty much had enough at this point so I shoved him out and slammed the door shut. Either the shock at someone actually pushing back at him or the crazed look I faked in my eyes apparently made him think twice about throwing down in front of the Four. The cabbie said, "I don't know what that was about, but let's get out of here." Nicest person (besides my 6'2 darn good looking roomate who I talked to in her tight bathrobe for 30 minutes once I got home, but that's another story) that I met since I got here. He's 75, twice retired and twice unretired, moved here from South Central LA after the Rodney King riots, and only charged me $12 for the ride home and didn't even protest leaving the strip.
Let's see, high points. I didn't get killed at the tables, and was smart enough to leave. I'm in Vegas, which is always better than the office. I had chipotle on the way to the MGM, and even the fact that I got verde sauce on my shirt can't ruin the joy of that. I met the owner of two bars in Austin and we really hit it off so my streak of Vegas networking success continues. He's going to the All Star Game tomorrow courtesy of the owner of the Spurs (I think). Let's see.. oh, apparently there's something about the above clothing description of me and a pissed off look that makes women stuck in traffic on the strip want to talk to me... or maybe it's because I was the only guy in sight without gold teeth and a doo rag, I dunno.
posted by Steven at 12:54 PM
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