Vegas

Not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas:

New Years Day. I awake as Aaron’s leaving the room, mumble, “Morning, call you later”, turn over and go back to sleep.

Two hours later we meet at Ballys sports book and place our bets on today’s games; finish our drinks and drift to Mon Ami Gabi, the French restaurant at the front of the Paris. Eat on the patio looking toward the Bellagio. It's cool today, but the radiant heaters keep us warm.

After breakfast we watch football at Ballys before heading to Caesars sports book. Throw $300 to the hostess to secure two seats for the day. Watch the morning games and decide to wander. End up at Ballys again. Maybe poker. I get annoyed waiting for a table so tell Aaron I’m just going to wander. I decide to check out the Bellagio Conservatory, always an eye treat. Whilst walking there I recall that I had intended to give away $500 in 20s to random people during the holidays, but doing that at home is a pain - you have to go out to various places to do it. Here, on the other hand, it'll be easy. So every time I encounter someone sweeping up or doing any of the low paid jobs that underpin this salute to excessiveness I tap on their shoulder say “Thank you” and hand them a twenty. Their surprise is my pleasure.

Wander back to meet Aaron for drinks and drinks and drinks and a midafternoon lunch at the Tilted Kilt, a lovely Irish bar with short-skirted waitresses. Back to Caesars to watch the rose and orange bowls. Break even on my game bets. Sweet.

Let’s play poker. Back to Ballys. Sit down at a 3/6 no limit table with Aaron to my right. Not often do Aaron and I sit at the same table. He generally prefers limit games whereas I'm better at no limit. Buy in for $200. A few hand’s later I’m taken for half my chips when a 6 high flush tops my 5 high. Okay. That’s poker. But this dick has to crow about it, “I knew you had the ace and not the six. I knew I had you beat.”

“Bray, you fucking ass,” I’m thinking. If I get the opportunity I’m going to take you down. Fast forward an hour - I pick up pocket nines. I bet em and mr asshole raises. “Really,” I wonder aloud as I call. Flop comes, he raises, I call. Turn card , he raises, I call. The river — he raises big, and I figure “He probably has me beat with a higher pair. But my dislike of his earlier behavior overrules my rationality so instead of saying “Fold,”I say “All in.” He calls. I show my nines and he shows sixes. I smile, thinking, "Boom! Cleaned you out, mother fucker. So much for your bluff."

Over the next few hours both Aaron and I take in tons of chips, much of which are coming from mr asshole - he has to rebuy several times. On another hand he and I get into it again. The board is showing 10, two jacks, and two aces. I push all-in with a 10, 8 in my hand. I've easily got him covered and I'm representing that I hold an ace for an ace-high full house. He thinks and thinks and finally folds, showing a jack, meaning he had a full house, jacks over aces. I throw in my hand, and the dealer goes, "You know, if you would have shown your hand you could have won a $100 prize for the best hand this hour. The dealer also believes I had the ace-high boat. I smile and say, "I only had aces and tens. The dealer laughs loudly and says to mr asshole, "God damn, he bluffed you!" The table joins in the laughter. I just smile.

Finally at midnight we decide to do something else. I play two more hands, which I win. I’m in for $200 but as I rack my chips I need two racks, each holding about $500 in chips. At just this moment a janitor sweeping the floor walks up behind mr asshole. I stand up, notice the janitor and, in keeping with my day’s behavior, hand him one rack of chips, much of which was once mr asshole's and say “Thanks, keep up the good work. This is for you.” Took the other rack and cashed it out for $500. Best poker night ever.

We wander though the casino restless and not ready to retire. Stop at a $25 min bet blackjack table. Aaron’s betting $100 a pop and I’m betting $25. I win and win and win. $25 turns into $200 after tipping the dealer $50. Exit the casino wobbly, giving my blackjack chip winnings to any cleanup crew member I encounter.

Back to Bally’s food court for pizza to go. Then to the room, snarf the pizza, wash it down with a beer and retire my tired, drunk body, thinking “Yeah, Louie Armstrong had it right - It’s a wonderful world.” Zzzz.

Epilogue:

On the way to the airport Aaron describes my poker evening as the Drunken Dad persona - This old guy whining for more whiskey whilst trying to remember the betting. “The old fart’s my mark” idea gets embedded in the other players at the table. I play my good hands and bluff my poor ones. When it clicks I gets their chips. It's not the first time Aaron has seen this performance.