Saturday, February 12, 2011

Nurse the Hate: True Las Vegas Story #2




In my early twenties I went to Vegas as part of a four man group under the auspices of it being a Bachelor Party for this guy I kinda knew named "Rick". (I had the change the name as you will soon see...) Rick was marrying some girl he had been dating when college ended. Like most college graduates, Rick had followed the playbook. Go to college. Meet a nice girl. Get a good job. You and the girl move in together. Get a dog. Get married. This occurred in the usual 6-7 year span from freshman year to wedding planning. The one thing that is a little different in this particular scenario, was Rick was completely out of control. I had no idea how out of control when I went on this junket. Hell, Rick was a guy I hung out with at bars and a baseball game once in awhile. It was his roommate I knew. I went on the trip to gamble and hoped something interesting would happen. I brought one of my old college roommates just in case the trip went off the rails at some point. But, Rick seemed like a pretty fun guy, and his fiance was really nice too. It looked to be a great long weekend.

I first noticed that this trip would be different when Rick started drinking scotch heavily on the flight. Most guys in their early 20s aren't scotch drinkers, but let me tell you this guy was getting after it. In fact, he and his roommate had started a conversation with a woman traveling alone, and at one point Rick had his hand up her skirt. They were laughing and drinking like crazy. It was sort of like a nightclub in the back of that plane that day. You know those loud obnoxious people in the back of planes on Apple Vacations junkets? Yes, we were those asshole. If you were on that flight, I am sincerely sorry.

It was about 1pm when we landed, and Rick was already completely disabled. We were staying at The Flamingo (or "The Bird" as old timers call it). A college friend and I shared a room, while Rick and his best friend shared another. Within 45 seconds of checking into the hotel, I was at the blackjack tables. Little did I know that Rick and his roommate had gotten in touch with the girl from the plane, and invited her to their room. How those guys convinced this girl to have sex with them at 2:30 in the afternoon, I have no idea. It's not like these guys were models. But they had quite a scene at their room at The Bird. Personally, I would have been creeped out to have my roommate watching me have sex with a strange girl while he swirled ice cubes in a scotch glass, but everyone has their own thing I guess. It would have really creeped me out when she insisted on calling one of them "Daddy" when he entered her from behind. It's just a good thing those crazy kids found each other, huh?

I don't really remember how I did that night. I do remember when those two guys came downstairs to tell me the story of the girl, with her draped over Rick. "You remember Natalie from the plane, don't you?" She hang out with them and drank until she was almost comatose, and they tossed her in a taxi. We must have gambled for another 5 hours or so after that. The main thing I remember is getting called over by Rick's roommate, who told me "We gotta get him out of here. He's out of control.". We escorted Rick up to his room, and he was adamant about calling an escort service for a hooker. This seemed then, as it does now, like a bad idea.

While Rick's roommate and I went over our sports book info for the next day's college football games, Rick went into the bathroom and called some escort service from a leaflet he had been handed by a Mexican amputee. It couldn't have been easy for the operator to understand what the hell he was saying, as the conversation was slurred and rambling. However, he may have gotten his point across that he wanted to be met at the Flamingo pool by two girls, and he was expecting a full night of "service" from both. Rick then announced he wanted to go swimming in the pool. The idea that Rick wanted to go swimming at 130am in his condition reminded me of what it must have been like hanging out with Brian Jones the night before he drowned. However, Rick's roommate said it was best just to let him go to the pool, and hopefully the swim would get him back in line. OK, whatever. I'm in. So we go to the pool.

Rick swam around the pool. Well, not so much swam as sort of bobbed around while yelling things to us while we sat on lounge chairs ready to drag his drowning ass out at any moment. We were the only ones out there, and amazingly security didn't come remove us. They must have been busting someone's thumbs for card counting or something. Then I heard the click clack of two women's approaching footsteps in high heels. Rick perked his head up like a bird dog. The girls were young, and surprisingly wholesome looking for a couple of prostitutes. The girls kept talking to themselves, and walked by the pool, oblivious to Rick or us. That's when Rick said, "Hey... Are you girls looking for a guy at the pool?". They looked at him like an annoying bug and kept walking. "Hey! I'm the guy in the pool! I'm the guy in the pool!" I got it immediately, but Rick didn't. These girls weren't whores. They were normal girls probably in town for a convention. "Hey! I'm the guy in the pool!" Crestfallen, Rick went back to his room, his roommate convincing him it was time to call it a night.

I got up in the morning, ready to lay action down on Week 1 of the NCAA Football slate. I called over to Rick's room and got his roommate on the phone. We agreed to meet in the coffee shop in 30 minutes. I got down to the coffee shop (which in Vegas is always called something like "Raffles") and discovered no Rick. His roommate shook his head, and said he hadn't seen Rick since about 430a. It turned out that Rick had given the escort service enough information to go on. At about 400a the door was pounded on angrily outside. Bam! Bam! Bam! "Hey! We're here! Let us in motherfucker!" Rick was passed out cold, but his roommate shook him awake. "You've got to get rid of them!" Rick decides to do the exact opposite, and lets them in.

Now I didn't see these women, but I trust the account I was given. There was a bleached blonde with a smoky voice, and leathery skin from too much of everything. Her companion was an Asian girl so plump you might be tempted to put an apple in her mouth and roast her over an open fire. She was the one with the real mouth, calling Rick a "motherfucker/asshole jerkoff/cocksucking bitch/etc/etc/etc when Rick told them they were too late. That's when the real dust up started, and accusations and threats flew everywhere. Somehow, and it wasn't even clear to those that were there at the time, peace was restored. The Asian girl was given $100 to just leave, and Rick decided the blonde was the kind of girl that he should spend some time with gambling downstairs. That was the last report we had on Rick.

Like any good friends, we did what was expected of us. We gambled, drank, and forgot all about Rick. I don't think we really got that concerned until Sunday afternoon. We still hadn't heard from him, much less seen him since Friday night. That's what made it so surprising when we returned to the rooms to change and found him crashed out on the bed with the late NFL game on, his eyes as wide as saucers. What's up Rick? "Hey guys... I'm all good. Just really tired. I'm going to go to sleep." That didn't look likely as it appeared as if an electric current was running through his veins. See ya later man, we're going to the pool.

Rick had gambled with the prostitute for most of the morning. That's when they decided to go to her trailer in the desert. She made a call, and her friend the Samoan biker drug dealer came over. Rick had spent the next 18 hours or so with the two of them doing some sort of drug who's name was ever made clear, although I think we can assume it was something that isn't very healthy or recommended for a lifestyle choice. By Monday late afternoon Rick still hadn't slept, and the rest of us had made a killing on football and the tables. We still had one more day to go, but Rick's roommate said "We gotta get him out of here. That guy hasn't slept since Thursday and he's talking crazy." We changed our flights to leave ASAP, and got Rick loaded onto the plane much like you would a duffle bag. He finally fell asleep somewhere over Nebraska.

Leaving the Cleveland airport, it was the last time I ever saw Rick. I didn't go to the wedding the next weekend. Rick did though. He got divorced 7 months later. I think his ex-wife got the dog.

3 Comments:

At February 12, 2011 at 8:26:00 PM EST , Blogger Cindy said...

This is from "The Hangover", right?

 
At February 14, 2011 at 9:49:00 AM EST , Blogger Greg Miller said...

This is an honest to God true tale. "Rick" had (and maybe still has) an extremely prominent job in an industry that would cut him to shred with a machete if they knew what he was up to....

 
At February 14, 2011 at 10:07:00 PM EST , Blogger Anonymous said...

Dude, this blog is amazing and these are laugh out loud funny.

Please keep it up.

 

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home