Res Ipsa Poker

I'm killing time doing anything but preparation for tomorrow's trial du jour, as a result you get blog spew. Sorry.

Anyway, I was looking through my collection of trip reports last night - not all of which have been posted here - and found myself revisiting previous trips to Las Vegas for blogger gatherings. Here is one of those random experiences that make Vegas unlike most anywhere else.


Friday, December 9, 2005
Excalibur, Las Vegas

It hadn't been a winning trip so far, and my visit to the Excalibur was no different. Dozens of bloggers had "stormed the Castle" for an evening of donkey poker, prop bets and wheel spins. By wheel spins, of course, I mean trips to the desk to spin the giant wheel labeled with various bonus prizes. You got to spin the wheel if you cracked pocket aces - I don't recall if there were other ways to qualify. I was able to spin the wheel once when I cracked BG's aces with a set of sixes. I think I won $40, which didn't quite cover my poker losses.

The table broke about 3:30 a.m. and I strolled around the Excalibur. I figured that most people would be dragging themselves off to sleep, while thanks to a cracked-out sleep schedule I was just getting warmed up. It was coming up on four in the morning, I'm wandering around by myself - "raging solo" some would call it - what should I do?

Isn't it obvious?

I mean really, isn't it obvious?

I had to go downtown.

Downtown.

By bus.

I purchased my ticket at 4:04 a.m. and boarded the double decker "Deuce" bus. There were a decent number of people on board, most of whom you would have looked at and said 'yeah, I can see you on a bus in Vegas in the small hours of the morning'. I hoped that I was tired and grouchy enough to fit in, but figured that my enormous size and surly attitude would keep me out of trouble. I plopped down on a seat upstairs and proceeded to mind my own business for the hour or so it took to get downtown.

That's not to say that I didn't get free entertainment along the way. A couple of groups of African-American gentlemen boarded at various points and seated themselves behind me. They seemed to know each other and were soon absorbed in discussing the NFL. At a very loud volume. They added an F-bomb, or the F-bomb's less common but more colorful cousin, the MF-bomb, every second or third word for emphasis. It was pure verbal artistry. I could do nothing but enjoy and admire experts at work.

After a while the bus driver had enough and came on the intercom, basically telling them to knock it off. I wondered if the driver was feeling his oats, since he'd just kicked a creepy, disheveled bum off the bus. The NFL guys shut up and I decided that I better not give the driver any crap. We made it downtown without further incident.

I wandered in the direction of Binion's, formerly the Horseshoe, for a dose of old school Las Vegas and a graveyard special. 4:55 a.m. It was time for steak and eggs.