Excursion to Vegas Jr.

Anyone who has been to downtown Reno knows not to have high expectations. It's Reno. You will not see a roller coaster, mini Eiffel Tower, or even people on the street with cards advertising cheap hookers (*excuse me, naked escorts). You will, however, get the cheap buffets, bright lights that keep you up when you don't close the blinds to your room, and panhandlers. So I go with my low expectations. In fact the last time I was there, I had such low expectations, that I had a freaking fantastic time. Sadly, that great time raised my expectations and my most recent outing resulted in some disappointments.

For starters, I had to pay for my room. How dare you. I haven't had to pay for a room the last five times I've been there. I know, I sound like an idiot. But in Reno, I get a small taste of the celebrity lifestyle where they hand you free stuff left and right. Free room, slot play, dinning credits. I got used to it. On this trip, the well was dry and I became a miser.

Don't get me wrong. I took out more money than I should have and lost more than I care to admit, but I considered it to be my last hurrah(interestingly enough at Harrahs). I bought a house, so I would be in miser mode for the next thirty years, or when I gained a second income.

So on my last gaming adventure, what did I do? I spent hours in the Circus Circus carnival area obsessed with winning stuffed gorillas. Yeah, I had a fight with my boyfriend. I really, really, really wanted to win them. They were at this fishing game where you have a magnet attached to a pole and you had to fish out the red disc in a sea of yellow ones. It was two bucks a shot. If you got the yellow, you won the small toy. If you got the red, you won the medium. The gorillas were extra large. So in the best case, four mediums for one gorilla. I wanted all three. It was a mission.

Yes, I have a problem. But I also have three gorillas in my bedroom upstairs. Obviously, I won the fight. He did have a point that he shouldn't encourage my "I want that!" attitude. But I have the best counterargument: I'm paying for it myself. I think any man would agree that makes it okay. Four plastic bags of stuffed animals serve as a great reminder that I have issues. Cute plushy issues. And the best part was getting a compliment from the booth worker that we were good because we were patient. I stood there very still waiting for the red disc while kids around me messed up quickly and walked away with their small bear. We called them failure bears. And we left with three of them.

Going back to my low expectations thing, I have found that Circus Circus has my favorite buffet. I've been to the fancy expensive buffets before. It usually ends up the same for me: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and prime rib. So when you use a coupon and end up paying six bucks for two of you to get the same amount and still end up with your prime rib, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, what's the problem? Also, bonus: drink station eliminates waiting for someone to bring you a second glass of water when you should be on your fourth. Did I forget to mention that this was a breakfast buffet? I really enjoyed the first round of waffles, eggs and bacon. You know the best dessert to got with that? That's right, prime rib.

I also should note that in casinos, any gambler can walk up and get your meal comped. I think there is a special feeling to paying six bucks for two buffets. It takes more effort and it makes the meal sweeter. You also don't think back to the three hundred you dropped for the ten dollar dinning comp. Coupon baby!

Sadly by the end of the trip, I had used all the cash I brought (including a trip the ATM). I have to give myself credit though because our car got held hostage due to an investigation by the Reno police into possible hazardous materials in the parking garage (I know it sounds like a lame ass excuse to stay an extra night, but being snowed in doesn't work in July.) and I only pulled an extra hundred from my account. In all seriousness, we were set to leave and I had to call in a reservation to check back into the hotel we checked out of six ours earlier. Since it was Sunday, I was able to get a comped room. It was not a sweet moment. I was tired and wanted to go home. Besides, I already had my gorillas, what more did I need? Actually I was sick of gambling. No, I was sick of losing.

The whole purpose of my trip was to visit Lake Tahoe. Naturally since Reno is cheaper, we stayed there and drove out during the day. To be accurate, we were supposed to visit a friend in L.A. And I had requested the time off. Said friend had to make an emergency trip home, so failed to see the point of caravanning south. We postponed. I don't regret the decision.

I was going to wrap this up with my favorite story from the trip, but then I remembered another. There's this area on Friday and Saturday nights at Harrah's called Zone 21. It's where hot chicks (and a token male) in skimpy outfits dance around and deal blackjack. We go through the area and I was a little excited. Of course I noticed right away. The table minimum was five dollars. I had to play. (This is why my boyfriend loves me. He got to stare at the dealer's rack and I got to play cards. Win-win.)

Zone 21: Where more than alcohol impairs your adding skills.

Understand that these were some hot chicks. I'm a majority stockholder on the heterosexual side, but I know hot chicks when they are bouncing in front of me. I also know that they may be able to bag almost any guy in the room, but I have a bachelor's degree in mathematics. The girl we got, bless her heart, was working her first night without supervision (not including the eyes in the ceiling). To be fair, the music was deafening and we could barely hear each other, but it was just me and my man at the table, so we let her take her time. Slower dealing means longer play time. That's why we also enjoy Pai-Gow.

It was an educational experience. I saw my money taken from me even with a winning hand. I also I got to see what happens when a dealer makes a mistake. Since the floor manager didn't see anything, they called it up the security cameras above to review the footage. A few minutes later I had my five bucks back. We did pretty well and we tipped her. Five from me because she was completely apologetic and I knew I was probably going to be the nicest and most understanding person she'd see that entire shift. Five from my boyfriend, because, well, I think she was wearing a push-up. We came back later that evening and watched her hit a hard seventeen to get nineteen. I was out of money by then, but we got up quickly and left. I didn't want to stick around and watch the reactions of anyone else at the table. I had had a tough enough night as it was.

I should write this last story down before I remember any more. On one of my sobering moments of “crap, I'm down more than I wanted”, I went out to grab an overpriced soda from a vending machine for my boyfriend. Two dollars in and I hit the button. Clunk, clunk, clunk, one Sierra Mist. Clunk, clunk, clunk, a second Sierra Mist. Clunk, clunk, clunk, a third Sierra Mist. Cling, cling, cling, cling, two dollars in quarter in the change return. This machine was paying out. I looked at my loot and ran back to the room. I felt bad, but what do you do? Report the machine? Yeah, I know. It's one thing to steal from the discarded room service cart (Hey, it was a sealed can of soda in the hallway. Fair game!). It's another thing to take advantage of a poor machine who just wanted to come out west and be a movie star.

Looking back on the whole experience, there is no doubt that this was my favorite part of the trip. I needed that win. I had reached the point to where I was stealing toilet paper on the way out. Thank goodness I know when to admit I have a problem.

God,

Give me the grace to accept with serenity losing when I have Twenty,

Courage to double-down a soft Seventeen,

And the wisdom to split Aces and Eights.