Even though I was Mary 1 last night, I got my share of action in the casino.
It all started as I was wrapping up 482. There was a report of a guy in the food court bathrooms with his head in a toilet. We were so shorthanded there was no one available to respond, so Ted sends 88TonyB to investigate. Since I’m 10-8, too, and the EDR is not all that far from the food court bathrooms, I announce that I am on the way as well.
88TonyB and I get there together and there is a guy in a stall, but he’s sitting on the can, not paying homage to it, and Tony’s talking to him when Russ gets in the horn and yaps:
– 443, poker room!
443 means an officer needs assistance. This is not as serious as 444, which is an officer getting his ass handed to him, but it does get your attention.
The poker room is across the casino from the food court and I run across but by the time I get there matters are more or less under control and all I am required to do is stand around and look authoritative and I even get some great eye contact with one of the hottest babes at Monte Carlo, a poker dealer named Keena, who I end up winking at. She pretends not to smile and manfully manages to avoid fainting.
What happened was that there was some smack talk about a girl and A pushed B and C pushed A and when we got there B and C were gone so 77Rick is talking to A who is drunk and getting pissed and through some blind luck I tell everyone was master detective work I manage to find C and nobody is pressing charges but A is being a real dick and 77Rick ends up trespassing him.
A doesn’t like this but there isn’t much he can do. 77Rick and I escort him to his room, where we were met by X-Ray and eventually we make our way to the front desk. All the while the A has been dropping the names of pretty senior casino hosts so 77Rick calls the CSM, a nice, quiet Italian guy named Tom and Tom shows up at the front desk, talks to the guy a bit and then talks to 77Rick, evidently saying this guy is a really good customer and we’d hate to lose him and is there anything we can do?
Of course there is. We’re a casino, in business to take people’s money, and, if the CSM goes to bat for you, and if your crime isn’t genocide, you’re going to get a second chance. So we told the guy to go back to his room, sleep it off and come back tomorrow.
From there Ted sends me to valet to escort someone to his room and to bring a wheelchair and my gloves. Crap. This means some drunk has ralphed all over himself. There are wheelchairs in the bell storage area off the lobby, so I grab one, and some towels, gloves and trash bags, and I get there, and, sure enough, the guy has ralphed all over himself and the back of the taxi. I throw him a couple of towels and tell him to clean himself off and to make it snappy cause cabbies aren’t paid by the hour, but the cabbie had extorted a cleaning fee out of him so he wasn’t in that big of a hurry.
We get the guy in the wheelchair and when we get to 21 he starts ralphing again, which is where the plastic bags came in handy. He’s sitting on his key so a Henry unit lets him in and I wheel him into the room and there my service stops. I’m sorry; I am not helping a fat guy covered in ralph get out of a wheelchair. He can do that at his convenience and we’ll get the wheelchair later.
482 was brilliant: prime rib and two fried eggs, courtesy of St. Daryl, who is now my best friend. I am getting spoiled by this, and will probably weep when the Prime Rib Era ends.