Day 7…
It suddenly dawned on me today that with the Vegas 8 arriving on Sunday, I’d soon be spending the rest of my days tucked away in a corner of the Amazon Room, enduring 12 to 15 hours shifts and eating burritos in the food hall. With that in mind, I decided I’d do sweet F.A. today, and just spend the day lounging around on my ass in the Orleans.
Vegas casinos are so big, and so accommodating in what they can offer, that you can easily spend a whole month not stepping outside the building, and still be perfectly well entertained and catered for. On this particular day, I did just that, and I could gradually sense myself turning into an Alan Partridge type character as security, the cardroom manager and even a waitress recognised my face and greeted me. All I need now is the knitted jumper and side parting and I’m a mirror image of one of the most tragic characters on TV. Gosh, there’s no way I’m staying in tomorrow.
At 1pm I was awoken from the left-hand bed (I’ve been alternating my queens) by a walkie talkie in the hallway, someone obviously having locked themselves outside their room and with security treating it as a military operation. I tumbled out of bed like a zombie and headed for the shower, where instead of the roller coaster zipping past my window as was the case last year at the New York New York hotel, this time I was greeted by the more serene sound of people enjoying themselves in the pool. I could just about see them from the tiny window that lurks inside the shower.
As I sat in bed in my underpants, I popped the TV on only to be greeted by numerous adverts trying to sell me some kind of health enhancing merchandise or a toothy lawyer encouraging me to ring a number for an accident I’m going to have. I was shocked to see the tosh that was on, most channels broadcasting a version of Judge Judy, but with a different judge. At one time, there were five of these shows on simultaneously, with one showcasing a celebrity judge panel that included ‘A’ Listers such as Todd Bridges, best known for his work as Willis on American sitcom Different Strokes.
Still in my underpants, I ordered the Orleans’ Breakfast from room service, mainly because I couldn’t be bothered to go downstairs yet. After wolfing that down, I headed into the casino for a mocca at Seattle’s Best Coffee House, where I sat and read my Bret Hart autobiography. I’m a cultured man, so I only read the finest, most intellectual books the world of literature has to offer.
Of course, it isn’t long before I’m lured to the cash tables. The Orleans has a nice, homely cardroom, and you rarely have to wait too long for a table. As with the Vic, you head to the front desk and leave your name and they add you to the computerised list (although they always put me down as Adam J for some reason, and I can never be bothered to correct them). Dependent on whether they have many dealers available (sometimes not if there’s a tournament playing), you can be called within five minutes, or maybe an hour. Luckily, there’s plenty to keep you occupied while you wait with the bar, slots and toilet (if you’re really bored) just a stone throw away. I chose the slots, and after donking $30 waiting a few nights back, I set up tent at the cheapest machine available.
Whoever invented slots is a genius. A mother fucker, but a genius. It’s amazing how many people can sit in front of them like zombies, continuously pressing away at a button without any thought. Some people are even connected to them via their loyalty card and a plastic wire, as if the machine has suddenly become their life support. Although I was playing a one-cent game, I quickly bumped it up to 25 cents so I could actually win something if I hit the Royal Flush. At least with the one-cent machine, if you do hit a big hand, it bleeps for longer, and that sound is one of the best sounds around as it signifies, although just for a single moment and merely part of an illusion, that you’re not quite a big a loser as you first thought you were.
The mysterious Adam J was soon called to the cash tables where I joined a table of absolute rocks, as seems to be the trend at the Orleans. In America, you get all sorts of characters from a range of different ethnicities and backgrounds. This is one of the reasons why I love poker, because it brings together such an eclectic mix of people. On this occasion, I sat next to a black dude named Bob, who I could only describe as a younger Stevie Wonder with his black shades and greased back afro. He wore sparkly clothes with glitter on his shirt and walked like a pimp. Luckily, he was also a bit spewey, not terrible, but aggressive whilst still being a bit of a station preflop. After around five hours, I was happy to be $169 up, especially after my bad run at Caesar’s.
Right next to the cardroom is the food court, where they have 24-hour burgers, milkshakes, pizza and Subway, which is obviously handy. I decided to grab burger and chips from a place called Fuddruckers (which sounds suspiciously rude). They gave me a buzzer, which when it finally vibrated, scared the life out of me and made me jump out of my chair, much to the hilarity of those around me. As seems to be the case in the States, I was unable to finish my meal.
I then headed towards the cinema to watch Terminator Salvation. This was the first time I’d ever been to the cinema alone, but I think I’ve finally reached the age where I don’t care what other people think. Besides, I was only one of three in there, which was cool, and I found the experience rather relaxing as I sat on the top row with my feet on the chair in front. I had mixed feelings about the film. I think a post-apocalyptic Terminator film has been long overdue, but there was something unique about a Terminator mingling with civilians in the previous editions, and the cat and mouse theme that worked so well in films like Country for Old Men was sadly lacking. In fact, there wasn’t any real villain to despise here, and although he’d been part of the other films in some form or another, John O’Connor was a really tough character to like, but that’s maybe be because I couldn’t get that Christian Bale outburst out of my head. Having said that, the setting was cool, there were some awesome action scenes, and the script showed a lot of promise, so I enjoyed it overall, even if I wasn’t quite blown away as I would have hoped. The way it ended, we should certainly be expecting another film, which is never bad when you have such a strong cast and production team.
After the film, I started drinking at the Alligator bar, where, believe it or not, a giant alligator hangs from the roof. If there’s one place where you can get drunk alone, it’s Vegas, and with 50 bucks planted into the video machine, I started ordered White Russians, thinking I was getting them for free (well, a one dollar tip), when actually I was yet another mug paying for it via the machine. Of course, you start the session planning to just pretend to play, pressing the odd button every now and then, but after a few White Russians, that 50 dollars is gone through Blackjack tilt and you’re wondering if $15 per drink is actually good value. Now is the perfect time to order another drink, and then another one until I’ve brought that average figure down. In the end, I drank around eight White Russians, and also a Strawberry Dacari (I have no idea how that slipped in there) and barely knew what buttons I was pressing on the machines. All I knew was that there was lots of bleeping and cards zipping around the screen, which was good enough for me.
At around 3am, I was joined by Dana and Floppy (Chris Hall), who was way more drunk than I was and overjoyed at winning the high hand prize at Planet Hollywood for $600. As he waffled on about every hand he played, I hid my slightly intoxicated state from Dana superbly (an art which I can perfect), and ordered a bowl of chilli for $4.99 which, again, I was unable to finish.
Not long after, it was off to bed, and my Partridge-esque day was complete. I’d hit the machines, cocktails and cinema all on my tod, and managed to have a pretty good time doing so. I’m unlucky that I’m not particularly sociable, but lucky in that I have no problem with my own company, and can happily spend the day keeping myself entertained without even exchanging a single glance with another human being. I’ve always wondered how long I could live here before going stir crazy. Luckily, I love the easy life that comes with Vegas hotels and how everything you need is always at hand. I also enjoy the sound of slot machines, the riffling of chips and the clinking of glasses at the bar. All those noises that some people hate, I embrace. To me, a Vegas casino is a fascinating place, which is why I might miss staying in the Orleans once the Brown Belts’ house becomes available. But then again, maybe the change of scenery will stop me from putting that side parting in my hair and buying a knitted jumper from the nearest Wal-Mart.
Profit = $169
Total Profit = -$561
Hours = 36
