or why I no longer drink…as much.
A friend of mine is in Las Vegas this week. The last time I was in Vegas was almost this same time last year. (And yes, I’m aware that I didn’t post about my trip.)
I don’t go to Vegas as much as I used to, maybe once or twice a year.
We used to go several times a year. But that all changed after I got kicked out of a Vegas casino.
It was January 1996.
The BMW Z3, the car featured in the James Bond movie, Golden Eye, was the Grand Prize at the Stratosphere Casino for slot play.
I was going to win that car!
Back then, cocktail waitresses came around often and the drinks flowed freely. Maybe a little too freely.
Since I was playing for the BMW Z3, and I’m not a martini fan, I thought it fitting that my drink of choice was champagne splits.
Champagne splits are 187 ml (6.3 ounce) quart bottles.
I’m not a sipper. I’m more of a swigger. When I have a drink in my hand, I’m uncomfortable when it’s full. I feel compelled to finish it. And when I have an empty glass, I feel compelled to have it refilled. It’s a vicious cycle.
You can probably see where this is going.
I really wanted to win that Beemer. And after a few drinks, I didn’t care who won, just that someone won. I was cheering everyone on. “Win a Beemer! Win a Beemer!” or something to that effect.
I lost track of how many champagne splits I drank. But I tipped the cocktail waitresses well so they kept coming around…until they didn’t.
When I drink I get loud. Not the obnoxious, idiot loud drunk. But the “I can’t hear myself talk” so I have to talk louder type of drunk.
And when I get excited, I talk loud normally.
Add drunk with excited and you get a very loud gambler.
Apparently, I was so loud that my husband could hear me at the Black Jack tables.
And if I recall correctly, those tables were at least 100 feet apart, if not more.
It was around that time that the cocktail waitresses stopped bringing me drinks.
I didn’t understand why. I was tipping, I was playing the slots. And I was encouraging those seated around me to play.
The next thing I knew my husband was telling me it was time to go. And we were privately escorted out of the casino by a couple of really tall big guys.
I never won that BMW Z3 and haven’t been back to the Stratosphere since.
Have you been kicked out of a casino? Or have a bad drunk story?
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