Oh, baby, we were humming in the hotel last night. From the get-go it was non-stop on the hotel front lines.
We were so busy my first 10-10 (ten-minute break) was delayed twice. The first time I actually had my hand on the handle of the door of the Employee Dining Room (EDR) when we went four-nine-nine (four-nine-nine is radio code for an emergency, invariably a medical emergency) because a girl on 32 was having trouble breathing.
Old Man Pilcher (OMP) was the first one there. The room was being shared by two couples in their 20’s and one lady was on the floor of the bathroom where she was smothered by the other girl and initially it was hard to tell which one was having the breathing problems and which one was doing the smothering.
I arrived with the med bag and OMP tried giving her oxygen but that didn’t help so he stopped giving her oxygen and we waited for paramedics to arrive.
For their part, the guys were impatient. They had asked us if we were medical personnel and seemed peeved when I told them we were mere security officers. Then it was our fault the real medical guys were taking so long, and it would surprise you how often you run across this attitude, but if you show a little patience in these situations the guests will usually calm down.
After the paramedics left, taking the girl with them, I return the med bag to the Hotel Security Office (HSO) on 16 and head down to start my 10-10. This time I get to the second-floor elevator core (E-Core) when all Henry units are dispatched to 30 for a possible fight.
Half the crew responded. All four Henry units were there, as were 88TonyB and 77Rick plus a few casino units.
We found a large birthday party, easily a couple of dozen strong, going on in 30-102. The group had invited the guests in 30-111 to celebrate this cherished occasion with them and soon a couple of guys were going at it and someone had a shoe stolen. In a master piece of detective work, I found the shoe down the hall somewhere and we broke the party up, which pissed off a large Mexican guy. He wouldn’t leave and we ended up reading him the trespass warning which threatens arrest if you don’t get the fuck off our property right now and he asked who would arrest him and I said it would be my pleasure to be his arresting officer – hopefully in a manner that indicated such a task would be accomplished as a matter of course, which was highly doubtful because the guy weighed at least 350 and probably could’ve destroyed me by waving the back of his hand.
Before he left he pointed out the room was paid for. Guests point this out all the time, as if paying rent for the night allows you to do whatever the hell you want, but all it really allows you to do is 1) adhere to Monte Carlo policy for the length of your stay; and 2) do whatever the hell I tell you to do.
Right after that, I was sent to 23 to chase down a drunk who was bouncing off walls and knocking on doors trying to find his room, which is not all that uncommon a call at Monte Carlo. It resulted in one of the funniest episodes I’ve ever experienced.
I get to 23 and I find him near the end of the 300 wing, mostly standing, though a wall is heroically providing support. He’s a trim, handsome kid, probably mid-20’s with an Aussie accent.
“Good morning, sir,” I said, approaching.
He looks at his wrist; there’s not a watch on his wrist, but he consults it anyway.
“It is morning, isn’t it?” he asked, pronouncing each word slowly as if we were discussing a matter of grave importance.
We chatted for a bit and he is too far gone to actually remember what room he is in, though he seems to think his room number had a three and a couple of two’s in it. He gives me his ID and I radio dispatch with his name and soon enough we have his room number. I tell him I would be happy to escort him to his room, mentioning that he does seem to be a little drunk.
“That’s all right. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You, sir, are a legend,” he said, waving his hand to indicate Legend status had been wasted on mere mortals until this moment in human history. We get to his floor and head to his room and there is another bloke about the same age and intoxication level near the door.
“Do you know this guy?” I ask as we walk towards the room.
“Unfortunately,” he said, still pronouncing his words as if world peace depended on proper pronunciation.
“Are you in the same room?”
He nods solemnly, as if this fact doesn’t particularly please him.
“Can you arrest him?” he asks.
“Sure,” I said, nodding. “Any particular charge?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head dismissively. Then, as if this brilliant idea just occurred to him, “Shoot him!”
“I can’t,” I said. “I don’t have a gun.”
“Do something!” he says, almost hissing. “Put him on the ground. Make him shit!”
His friend had come down to meet us. He’s a blonde kid with dental issues.
“Your friend wants me to arrest you,” I said.
His friend nods confirmation of this fact and the blonde kid tries to hug his long lost drinking buddy. The first guy tries to push him away, but the blonde kid’s persistent.
“Sir, please don’t let him in my room. I don’t know him.”
“Sir,” I said to the blonde guy. “What’s this guy’s name?”
“Kevin,” he says confidently. That is, in fact, the guy’s name.
“That’s good enough for me!” I said, opening the door to their room.
“No, it isn’t!” Kevin said.
Eventually, I pour them both into their room, and both reaffirm my Legend status.