I worked a casino last night.
Funnily enough, I have never actually been to a casino except to work at them as a volunteer for various theatres in town.
They’re usually kind of boring. Sometimes exciting. Always strange.
I guess I was really asking for it when I tweeted this at the beginning of the night:
At first, my entertainment was mostly fashion-based:
But then the men at the casino caught on that I was in the cash cage.
This guy – let’s call him Goddess Worshipper, or GW for short – was pretty hilarious. It all started when he was at the ATM right outside my cash window. He started glancing over at me, then began to motion at my hair and giving me the thumbs up.
“I like your hair!” he yelled at me.
“Thanks!” I yelled back.
He stared at me some more.
(What was I supposed to say? Nothing like having a yelling conversation with a tipsy GW through soundproof glass, am I right?)
“Everything about you – your style – like, everything from your hair, your tattoos, your outfit – mmm – everything. It’s just 100% you. You are who you are, you know?”
“I…appreciate it!” I laughed.
I thought he was going to get his money and go. But instead he came right up to my cash counter.
“You’re teaching people things just by existing,” he said to me very seriously, “You are a perfect goddess. You’re teaching people how to be themselves. Just by being. Gorgeous. You’re a goddess. A goddess.”
“Okay! Thanks so much!”
(I’m way too nice.)
GW then sat at the blackjack table just a few feet away from the cash cage with his back to me. Throughout the night, he kept turning back to me and yelling “Perfect!” over and over again. After a couple hours, we apparently had inside jokes. He’d turn, point at his friend’s back and laugh, shrugging and shaking his head and motioning to me like, “Can you believe this guy?”
I, of course, would shrug, laugh, shake my head, and motion back to him like, “What a card!”
SIDENOTE: Yes, I just used the expression “What a card!” In a blog post about a casino. THANK YOU I’M HERE ALL WEEK.
Then the night was super quiet for like five hours.
And then there was this guy:
His story begins with another guy – a really young guy we’re going to call Young Guy, or YG. Let’s call the guy the story is actually about Forty Five, or FF.
(It’ll make sense in a second.)
It was the very end of the night and YG came up to me to cash in his chips. I had seen him earlier and noted how young he looked. He looked 12, but I’m sure he was 19 or something. Anyway, his cash out was $45.
He stared at me in horror as I handed him the money. He was obviously smashed.
“I got slaughtered tonight.” he said, looking like he was about to cry.
“That’s too bad.” I replied.
(What do you say to that, right?)
FF, who was organizing his chips just slightly behind YG came up to the counter.
“What did you lose, man?”
“Oh, dude,” YG turned to FF, “I got slaughtered. Slaughtered.”
“What’d you lose?”
“$800, man. $800.”
“We can fix that, bro. We can fix that. I lost $4500 last week in Vegas. No big deal.”
“What’s $800?” FF continued, “You can’t do anything with $800. You can buy a hooker and have some fun. That’s it. $800’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Young Guy’s face lit up.
“Let’s go out, man. Have some fun.”
“Bro, any other night and I would, man.” FF threw his chips at me, looking me up and down, “Tonight’s the one night I can’t.”
“Why not, man? Let’s go. Come on. Get a girl, get some stuff…”
“It’s the one night I can’t, man. I’m back on site in Fort Mac. Drug testing Monday, man. I can’t. Shit, any other night, bro. Any other night.”
At this point, I had laid out FF’s chips and counted out his money – a couple hundred dollars – but he wasn’t paying attention to me. I had to wait until he took his money to put his chips away, so I stood there, just listening.
“Fuck, man. Fuck. What a night.”
“Any other night, bro. I swear.”
Then Forty Five turned to me, in all his expensive jeans, tight t-shirt, bald head, look-at-me-I’m-hot-shit* attitude. He looked at my tits. Then at my face.
“Look at you in there.”
I looked at him, expressionless.
“Look at this chick,” FF turned to YG, “With her neck tattoo.”
Great, I thought, here we go.
FF turned back to me, leaning in really close to the glass between us. He bit his lip.
“You with your neck tattoo and your shaved head. I bet you’d be really up for it.”
And I was like, “WOW.”
I said it out loud. Too loud. It sort of fell out of my mouth. Sheer shock.
It wasn’t “WOW” as in “YAY.” It was “WOW” as in:
He grabbed his money and paraded himself away, giving Fort McMurray a horrible name with every step.
Lesson learned: I’m definitely not going to meet my dream guy at a casino.
P.S. I totally forgot to tweet about the classiest part of the night. On my walk from the casino to my car – which was less than 250 feet – I saw not one, but two penises. Apparently, dudes just pee on cars at 2am at West Edmonton Mall. Fucking wonderful.