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| - As we turn the corner at the Budget Suites on Tropicana (aka the Redneck Riveria) we see an aimless crack whore. As she spots us, she starts undulating her booty and lasciviously sticking her tongue out. We make the turn, and at the corner of the exterior of the casino we see another "denizen of the night" hawking her "wares". We pull into the unmarked driveway and pass a three story motel structure which is eerily reminiscent of the Coral Sands on Western in LA, drive past the casino and into the courtyard parking area.
We approach the entrance and see Bubba and a Miss Piggy look -alike helping Granny with her scooter equipped with oxygen tanks. We sidle past and enter the casino and immediately see guest "check in" which two actually normal women seem out of place behind the front desk.
Most casinos advertise the glamour, the fabulous nightclubs, gourmet restaurants and tittie shows. You know you're in trouble when the casinos main draw is its "security staff", a poster of which features gleaming smiles so far from the toothless varmint reality.
The casino is about twice the size of my house in square footage, so it's small. We pass a bank of slots and spy the main cage, fittingly secured with plexiglas to foil the inevitable hold ups which occur bi-weekly.
Like two eight year olds at Disneyland we cautiously walk towards the "table games area" and pass a man who urinated on himself asleep at the Maltese Fortune slots.
A sign at the table games section warns they only run til 4 am Mondays-Thursdays. There are two --count 'em TWO black jack tables.
We sit down at one of the tables which has a maximum betting limit of $200 (no, I'm not missing a zero). Reggie, the Filipino dealer seems delighted we are sitting down in this depressing shithole. I move one of the cupholders in front of my spot and find a hole burned clean through the felt and wood base of the table.
For the experience Petal and I each buy-in for $40 and Reggie's face immediately says "Hi-Rollers". We play a few hands when "Choco-Latte" approaches, throws $20 on the table and she is clearly both a regular and a hooker. All is calm til Petal hits on 12 against the dealer's 3 showing. Choco-Latte, clearly strung out on OxyContin and obviously a skilled hi-limit player, becomes enraged, berating Petal. Mistakenly I think she is yelling at me for doubling on a 10 against a dealer's three and there is almost an incident where the crackerjack security has to intervene. Instead the pit boss soothes "Now Choco-Latte, these boys can play any way they want".
Choco-Latte, miffed, leaves after she loses her $20, apparently planning to scrounge more on Tropicana.
We tip Reggie liberally because we feel sorry for him he is working in a shithole like this.
Sarkis Poopookyan then approaches waving a $100 bill and smoking two cigarettes at a time. Three times he makes 21 and doesn't realize it only to have Reggie save him from mucking his cards. Eventually I've had enough and I cash out for a black chip. The floor has to be called because apparently this has never happened before.
We go cash out at the plexiglas cage where again a supervisor has to be called since a $100 bill is being dispensed.
We start to exit the casino and walk to the car when, "Night of the Living Dead" style, three apparitions emerge from the dark in different directions. One appears to be Choco-Latte. "Make a break for it" I yell to Petal, who starts to run. Choco-Latte is now cracked out and screams "Muthafucka you hit on 13 bitch". We jump in my luxurious 2007 Mercury Milan and peel out of the lot barely escaping being shivved.
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