Me and four members of the dream team from
NBC's Las Vegas.
How cool is this - I met with the writers and
the co-executive producer from the show
Las
Vegas for lunch at Caesars Palace (the bigwig treated
everyone - thanks M!). I have to admit I was a little
nervous at the thought of meeting these Hollywood-types, but
they were so nice and gracious, and funny; they really
made me feel at ease. I promised not to use their names
but you should know that these behind-the-scenes people are
responsible for the exciting storylines that make this show such
a hit. Thanks guys, I'll be stalking you on the set!
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Shift: 10 AM - 5 PM
Station: Slots
A lady was sitting at a slot machine and ordered a Miller Lite.
When I started to walk away she stood up to move to the next
machine and I noticed that she had a fat belly. So I
hesitated and kind of hid behind another machine so I could get
a better look. Was she fat or was she pregnant? I
couldn't tell. Maybe she just had a baby and had that
after-pregnancy thing going on. Now, legally I can't not
serve her even if she is pregnant, but I'm also allowed to
refuse service to anyone I want. Well, maybe not me
personally, but a business does have that right. Anyway,
I didn't want to start a fight or cause a problem for myself,
but I didn't want to kill her baby either. Dammit!
As I was standing there contemplating my moral dilemma, a
bartender walked by and said, "What are you doing?" I
said, "Hey, see that lady over there? Do you think she's
pregnant?" He said, "No." I said, "How do you know?"
He said, "Because she walked up to the bar earlier and ordered a
Miller Lite and I told her I wouldn't serve her because she's
pregnant. She got all pissed off and said, 'I'm not
pregnant you jackass!'" He laughed when he was telling me
this. I said, "Oh my god...what did you say?" He
said, "I told her, "My mistake. How about a Diet Coke?'"
My mouth fell open, and I said, "You did not!" He laughed
and said, "Yeah, she didn't like that. She just walked
off." I said, "Oh my god, did she complain on you?"
He shrugged and said, "No one's said anything to me yet."
Then he said, "I don't know, maybe she is pregnant. Why,
did she order from you?" I said, "Yeah, a Miller Lite.
But I don't want to serve her if she's pregnant." He said,
"Eh. Bring her a Diet Coke then." I rolled my eyes
at him and said, "I'm not bringing her a Diet Coke.
I'll just bring her a water." So when I came back out with
my drinks I said to the lady, "Here's your water." She
looked at it and said, "I ordered a Miller Lite." I looked
down at my notepad in confusion and said, "You did? I'm
sorry, I'll be right back." She said, "That's all right,
I'm moving to another area." Awesome! I gave a
sincere, "I'm so sorry." Later on I saw her walking around
with a Miller Lite in her hand, and I have to tell you, she did
look pregnant. Oh well. You can't save everyone.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Shift: 5:45 PM - 8:30 PM
Station: VIP Party
I took an order from a table of four men. When I brought
the drinks one of the guys said, "You see that gal over there?"
He pointed to a very attractive woman standing with a group of
people. "That's my wife. Can you give her this
margarita and bring me another one?" I said, "Sure."
I walked up to her and said, "Your hubby ordered this for you."
She looked back to where I pointed and just then the guy saw us
and said, "No, not her...her." And he pointed to a
lady on the other side of me. This woman was not so
attractive. I kind of shrugged and mouthed, "Oops," at the
guy, and gave the drink to the ugly one, who glared at the
beautiful woman. When I brought the guy his margarita one
of the other guys said, "Hey, she tried to hook you up."
The guy laughed and said, "Yeah, great. I think I'm in
trouble." I said, "Sorry, I thought you pointed at that
first lady." He said, "I appreciate that, but I don't
think my wife does."
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Shift: 9 AM - 5 PM
Station: Slots
When the phone in the service bar rang, it was for me. It
was the newly promoted bartender, the one who can't pour his way
out of a paper bag. He said, "Hey Dollie, come over to my
bar. I have something for you." A bit intrigued, I
said, "What is it?" He said, "Just come over." Now,
even though this guy can't pour for shit, he's a really nice guy
and sometimes he brings little knickknacks or candy for the
girls. Sweet, but not enough of an incentive for me to
walk a hundred yards out of my way. I said, "Well, I'm
kind of busy (I wasn't)..." He said, "OK, but you're gonna
miss out." I said, "What do you mean? You're gonna
give something for me to someone else?" He said, "If you
don't want it. But I think you will." I let out a
big sigh and said, "OK, I'll be right there." I hung up
the phone and my bartender said, "Who was that?" I said,
"M. He says he has something for me." She laughed
and walked away. So I walked to the other bar and said,
"OK, whaddya got?" He leaned down behind the bar, then
lifted up a square, black tote bag. It was unzipped and
inside was a cocktail tray and some miscellaneous items like a
notebook and pens. He said, "Here, someone left this.
I figured you could turn it in to security and if no one comes
for it, you can claim it." I just stared at him.
After a few seconds I said, "Is this a joke?" He looked
surprised and said, "What do you mean?" I said, "You
called me over here to turn this in to security for you?"
He said, "No. Well, yeah. I mean, what am I gonna do
with it? I thought you could use the tray if no one claims
it." I took the tray out of the bag. It was beat up
with pen markings and bits of the cork missing. A corner
of it was chipped off. I held it up to show him and said,
"You're serious?" Before he could respond I said, "No
one's going to claim this. They were probably hoping to
lose it." The bartender took the tray and said,
"Hmmm...yeah, I guess you're right," and I could almost hear the
squeaky wheels come to life as he slowly turned it over and
examined the underside. I took a deep breath, grabbed the
tray, suppressed the urge to smash his head with it, grabbed the
bag, and said, "OK, thanks, I'll take care of it." I
walked over to the security podium, said, "Someone left this at
the bar, and no I don't want to claim it," and walked away.
When I got back to my bar my bartender said, "Well, what was
it?" I said, "Someone left a ratty cocktail waitress tray
at the bar, so he wanted me to turn it in to security and he
said I could claim it if no one comes for it. That was his
gift for me." She just started laughing and said, "That's
M. Thank god he's not my barback anymore."
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Shift: 6 PM - 2 AM
Station: Pit
My friend, Don Lemmon, died today. He was only 37.
His wife is the famous ex-porn star, Asia Carrera. He was
in a car accident in Las Vegas while driving home to Utah.
I don't know the details, but you can read about it on
Asia's web site. A couple weeks ago he told Jerome he
was going to be here this weekend shooting a video at Gold's Gym
and doing some other stuff, and he invited us to have dinner
with him and Asia because he knew that I had been Asia's fan for
years and would love to meet her. He canceled the dinner a
couple days ago because Asia couldn't make it (she is eight
months pregnant), but he still had to come here for business.
Don is famous in his own right (he joked to me that being Asia's
husband wasn't his only calling card) - a writer, model, singer,
bodybuilder, even a Chippendale's dancer - but he is best known
for being an expert nutritionist, helping people attain their
physical goals through proper diet and exercise. On a
personal level, Don was extremely down to earth, had a great
sense of humor, and loved his wife and daughter more than
anything else in the world. Catalina is fifteen months old
and Asia is eight months pregnant with their son, Devin (she
renamed him Don). I wish Asia the best in what must be the
hardest time in her life, and she knows that Jerome and I are
here for her. It is incredibly sad that someone so young
and vivacious, and who inspired others in such a positive way,
is gone forever. Don, you will always be loved and missed.
Friday, June 9, 2006
Shift: 10 AM - 6 PM
Station: Blackjack Tournament
I was rushing in to work so I wouldn't be late. I wasn't
running, but walking pretty fast. I passed an employee,
and I wouldn't have even noticed him except he said, "Don't
worry, I'll push people out of the way for you." I turned
back to see a security guard who was no taller than me. I
started to laugh - what was he gonna do, stomp on people's toes?
Kick 'em in the ankles? - and he laughed too, in a way I can
only describe as
I've-never-fucked-a-real-girl-before-but-I've-practiced-on-myself-thinking-about-it-and-I-still-live-with-mommy-even-though-I'm-forty-seven.
I didn't have time to be rude so I just turned and kept on
going. I was happy to learn that one of my favorite
cocktail waitresses would be working with me at the blackjack
tournament. It wasn't very busy, which was good since it
was my first day back from vacation and my tray arm was killing
me and I wasn't in work mode yet. C and I were told to
stand by the tables even if we didn't have an order just so if
anyone wanted to order they wouldn't have to wait for us to come
around. That was fine, we didn't care. It gave us a
chance to amuse ourselves by playing our version of "Boxers or
Briefs?" Except our question was more interesting, and our
answers were multiple choice:
Our pit was right next to
one of the main walkways, so we had no shortage of victims.
The pit bosses and dealers thought we were insane because all
they saw and heard were C and I making exaggerated facial
gestures, sticking our fingers down our throats, and every once
in awhile yelling, "God forgive me!" We would also do a
little dance when a hubba-hubba! came along. It
resembled the "we have a tip, ladies!" dance that they do at
Cold Stone. Anyway, in the middle of our fun, while we
were standing there taking a breather, I heard a voice behind me
say, "Those are nice shoes." I kind of slowly looked over
my shoulder and saw that it was my would-be hero from this
morning. I turned back without saying a word, and said to
C, "God forgive me." She was drinking a bottled water and
she choked and the water literally came out her nose. She
was laughing and snorting and coughing up a lung at the same
time. I was like, "Are you OK?" She was seriously
having a fit, causing a scene. But she waved me away and
eventually calmed down. We both started giggling then.
I forgot that the security guard was still there behind me.
He never once offered to help C, but he wasn't just idling his
time away either. He was busy thinking up his next line
because so far he'd been successful. He finally settled
on, "So, do your feet hurt?" I didn't even bother to
acknowledge him. I looked at C and gave her the look.
She said, "I gotta go, you're killing me." I said,
"You're not leaving me here by myself." We ran off
giggling together.
Jerome and I went to the
Wine Spectator's Grand Tour last year at The Venetian.
I'd never been to a tasting and I had visions of classical
music, women with upswept hair and expensive perfume, and men
named Charles and Edward sipping wine with their pinkies
delicately raised in the air. What was I thinking?
It was like walking into a casino on a Friday night minus the
slot machines. I'm not a wine drinker but it turned out I
was quite the connoisseur. The worse my sour beer face
became, according to Jerome, the better quality was the wine.
I was much happier at the buffet, where they had these yummy
sushi-like things on crackers. That's where the
photographer found us and asked if she could take our picture.
I said yes, but only if she promised to Photoshop out the food
between my teeth. She said if our picture was picked, it
would probably be in the August 2005 issue of Wine Spectator.
I kind of forgot about it. Then a couple months ago
one of my beverage managers said, "Hey, I saw your picture on a
registration form for this year's wine tasting."
August
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