Robbing The Venetian Blind Part I: A Cyst to Please Turn Over Ratio
I’m waiting to place an order. Largely ignored, I put my elbows on the counter to look anxious. I haven’t had much to drink today. There’s a girl at the other end of the counter who looks like she’s been waiting awhile. She’s blonde and she appears to be alone, tight jeans and a black sweater. I try to stare while not looking like a suspect.[1] The guy on the other side of the counter goes over to take her order.
“I’m sorry ma’m, but we don’t seem to have your Yaz in yet. Could you come back tomorrow?” asks the man.
I’m at the pharmacy waiting for my prescription to come through. There’s a hospital bracelet on my wrist where I was discharged about an hour earlier. Just four days ago a similar looking bracelet adorned my wrist and admitted me into a much happier place; a place where girls dangle on tension wires and the cheapest drink is a $9 Bud Light; a place where anything is possible if you have enough cash, cars, and Quaaludes. But now, as I wait in line for my own prescription, all I can think about is how much my ass hurts.
The pharmacist is calling up the distributor for her.
“Yes, I need more Yaz,” I hear him say. The girl sort of recoils as the volume is a tone higher than you would want your pharmacist to use when refilling your birth control prescription.[2] At least we know she’s up for it.
As much as I’d like to pursue this issue further, I quickly remember my own disposition. I recall that if it magically does come down to shirts and skins at least one of us will be wearing disposable underwear. It’s not her…my butt hurts.
Round 1: One Week Earlier
I was wide awake for the first Friday morning in recent memory. Already I’d forked over $200 for the day’s games, checked my bracket, ordered a Denver omelette, and finished my fifth cup of coffee. After placing our bets, we walk through the casino floor en route to the cab stand. A man is gently escorted out of the Heart Bar by several large security guards, his grey Wisconsin Badgers shirt slung over his head like it’s the end of Children of Men. No one looks twice. The grandmas turn back to video poker and the cocktail waitresses continue to serve free drinks. It’s 8 a.m. on a Friday morning in Las Vegas.
It’s hard not to laugh at something like that while also imagining a black car on a single-lane highway, a hungover Wiconsinite in the trunk, lots of duct tape, some vultures, and a cozy hole in the desert. Whatever, it’s March Madness and there are better things to do.
Although many would call it a waste I maintain that there’s nothing wrong with spending an entire day inside a smoke-filled, movie theater getting free drinks while watching other people be active. It’s 6 p.m. and we’ve been sitting in the same lounge chairs since breakfast ended. Sprawled out in front of us are at least 30 HD screens showing four games.
Three others have joined me on this gambling odyssey including JewJo, Jammy, and my cousin Monkey. I excuse myself to the bathroom for the first time in twelve hours. The urinals are equipped with splashguards and cigarette holders for those who don’t want to put out their cigarette and reach for another one just because they have to take a piss, the fact that thousands of other people who haven’t washed their hands all day have used this is small beans compared with having to reach into your pocket for another.
The cab line is at least thirty people deep. JewJo[3] looks pissed. He needs to get back to the poker room.
“Fuck man, this line’s gonna take forever,” he sighs.
“No it won’t,” says Jammy.[4]
“There’s at least 15 cabs in front of us,” JewJo retorts.
“There’s definitely not more than 11,” Jammy responds.
A sudden smirk slaps itself across JewJo’s face. I know what’s coming.
“Wanna bet?”
It’s sidebet time.
Sidebets are the wagers made between friends that can range anywhere from sports betting to more personal agendas. I lost my sidebet to Jammy yesterday, saying that JewJo’s’ first word upon entering our room would be either, a.) Yo., b.) Up, c.) Big,[5] d.) Yao[6]. Jammy took the field. JewJo’s first words were “My amigos” and I lost three bucks.
There are exactly eleven cabs ahead of us and JewJo hands Jammy a five dollar bill in complete disgust.
Returning to the hotel I’m down 300 for the day. I’m one drink and a hundred dollars away from accepting someone’s indecent proposal. With not one to be found I settle for a daiquiri. Actually make that two daiquiris…sorry…three daiquiris in preparation for a Cirque de Soleil show.
Four daiquiris later and I’m in the lobby of another hotel. Monkey, who I believe has matched me daiquiri for daiquiri, is singing Andrea Boccelli in the lobby at a very high decibel level. Once inside the theater, a performer/usher wearing eyeliner and dressed in a cape tells us to keep it down. Apparently someone in the row behind us didn’t like my cousin’s Amistad joke.[7]
“Take me to your emperor!” Monkey demands, “There’s an urgent matter I must discuss with him.”
Miraculously we don’t get thrown out of the theater. None of us have a good memory of the show due to either a daiquiri induced sleep or a daiquiri induced drunken haze. Looking back, the three things I recall are flaming bows and arrows, a man in a turtle costume, and a shitload of backflips.
A man dressed as a ninja pulls another ninja towards him with a rope.
“Get over here!” roars Monkey.
“Finish him!” he continues.
“Fatality, Scorpion wins.”
[1] A skill mastered after years of walking to class and getting caught looking.
[2] From what I’m told apparently Nuva Ring is better though I’m not sure telling her that would put me in her good graces.
[3] This is short for Jewish Jordan. The original Jewish Jordan was named Tamir Goodman. He played high school basketball in Baltimore and was almost recruited by the University of Maryland until they realized that he sucked at basketball and couldn’t play games on Shabbat. JewJo has stolen this nickname as he once tried out for our high school basketball team but never made it. He said it was because “the system was against him.” We say it’s because he’s Jewish and slower than a banana slug.
[4] Jammy got his moniker because he still wears pajamas when it’s time for bed, which for him is around 9:30. He can basically fall asleep at any time and it is my suspicion that he has borderline narcolepsy. There have been many occasions where people have placed certain appendages on his face and he didn’t bat an eye.
[5] As in Big Worm. Long story.
[6] As in, Yao Ming. As in, “you know what I mean.”
[7] Some jokes are better left untold.
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