Circus Circus smells like a hospital. There's always a tangy scent of disinfectant lingering in the air. I initially thought it was from kids coming off the rollercoaster and being a bit sick. But given the average age of the punters in the casino area, I can only assume it was from cleaning up dead pensioners from under slot machines.
I always thought slot machines were stupid. 24 hours later, my mind would be changed.
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DAY THREE -
Las Vegas is home to some of the world's fanciest restaurants, yet I was in bed at 8am eating day old cold pizza and trying to make half a bottle of Gatorade last until I had enough energy to venture out. Everything seems to have about 15 different flavours in America. Walls and walls of the same shit with slight modifications. I decided to try and sample all of the different flavours of Gatorade, turning hangover prevention into a fun little game for myself.
Today I was determined to grind cash games in as many casinos as I could. Problem was I didn't really know the exact location of most of the cardrooms, and I wanted to avoid taking cabs to and from them several times. I didn't have a set schedule, and I didn't even know where I was going until I got to the taxi line as was asked where I wanted to go. I just spluttered out "..Venetian?" when asked, with a strange inflection that made it sound like I didn't know if it was a real place or not. Like I just asked the guy to get me a taxi to Mordor.
My cab driver was a Japanese guy, who asked if I was English. I confirmed I was, and he spent the 5 minute drive doing terrible impressions of English accents.
"GEORDIE? GEORDIE? WAY AY MAN?"
"YOU FROM LANDAN BRUV?"
"SCOUSE? SCOUSE? EH? EH?"
I sort of admired his dedication to his job, because if I had to drive groups of pissed Englishmen about in Vegas, I'd have jacked it in within the first shift. I didn't admire his persistence though, because he only really had three accents in his little routine, and he burned through them really quickly - so he just started over again. Once more with feeling.
He opened the door for me, and pointed to the way in. Grabbed my hand to shake it and said - "HEY! NO FACKIN WORRIES MATE!" in this terrible Danny Dyer accent, which caught me off guard enough to make me burst into laughter. He earned his extra couple of dollars tip there. He saved the best till last. It was his Bohemian Rhapsody. You think it's all over and you're a bit underwhelmed, and then he comes back out with his greatest hit.
I only really settled on the Venetian because I was 100% certain they had a poker room, and I was about 60% certain it was in a fairly central strip location so I could walk to the other casinos without much trouble. I could ease into the day with some friendly $1/$2, before we tackle the more interesting games during the evening. Build up a decent cushion of wins to soften the blow of any potential losses later on in the day.
The Venetian is quite a casino. It's almost sickeningly grand, like a degenerate Buckingham Palace. It's like your Grandma's living room, if she had roulette tables in it.
Our $1/$2 table was fairly standard for 10am. Surly old men for the most part. Though they were content to double me up within 5 hands when I had two lovely red Aces. In England I'm lucky to squeak a fiver out of the earlybirds at The Vic, so it was a welcome change. There was a call for a Limit Omaha Hi/Lo starting, and I jumped at the chance to play seeing as Limit poker is virtually non-existent back home outside of the odd £150/£300 game in London.
Limit Omaha/8 has a reputation as an old person's game. I reserved judgement until I got to the table and saw the line up. That reputation is not built on lies, it seems. I can make the easy jokes about someone being in an Iron Lung and there being a strong smell of Werther's Originals, but this was the most enjoyable game of my whole trip. It was almost as if the early morning Limit O/8 at the Venetian was their little social club, but they were very accommodating of a young hoodie wearing European and they were genuinely interested in speaking to me and finding out about England and myself personally. They also love to gamble. 6 way capped pots were the norm. These games are played with $1 chips only, which makes for fun tower building. Get a good scoop in, and you win about 2 racks worth of chips.
We left the game about two hours in, but I would have stayed longer if I could because these guys were brilliant.
We ended our rumble at the Venetian about $500 up in around 3 hours. Had chicken and chips from the Venetian food court and ticked off a Gatorade flavour from the list. No real idea where to play next, so I decided to wander into whatever casino was next and play if they had a poker room. That's how I ended up in Harrah's.
I didn't know Harrah's even had a poker room, I only stopped in to get out of the heat, sink this enormous can of beer I got for $2 in CVS and smoke while pretending to play a video poker machine.
Harrah's poker room is about 6 tables in a narrow corner near the entrance, though they were all full. Half tournament, half $1/$2 cash. All the atmosphere of a funeral. Which was apt because it seemed like half the players wanted to kill themselves. I get given a 7 seat, meaning I can't see the tiny cards because the dealer loves to spread a flop all the way down the other end of the table. I had to just guess if one of the paint cards gave me a pair and bet accordingly. Surprisingly we managed to book a small $30 win effectively playing blind.
Harrah's did have one perk though. The girl selling cigarettes. You can hear her singing her little jingle from across the casino in her high pitched California Valley Girl accent. Like a red haired siren calling me to my emphysema related grave.
"CIGARETTEEEEEEES, CIGARRRRRRRRRRRS, ROSES!"
I would have spent all my money on the little white chapel there and then if she said she'd marry me. I am a bollockless little prat though so instead of making a pass at her I just bought loads of Menthol Marlboro's instead. I went back and bought 4 or 5 packs off her over the course of the day. I'm still working my way through them now actually. I'm sure it'll all be a funny story when we get married next year.
The thing about Las Vegas for those who haven't been, is that all casinos seem to merge with each other. You walk out the back of one, and straight into another. So by virtue of simply wandering in as close of straight line as I could, I ended up in the Flamingo. It's sort of modern with a 1970's twist. Lots of pink and chrome, lots of older people that I imagine have been coming here for a long time. They also had a poker room, which meant I had to have a go. $1/$2 or $2/$4 limit. The $2/$4 limit was the most popular. You could sit in with $60 and waste all night knocking back the complementary cocktails. This Flamingo $1/$2 would be the best action I found all trip.
At first glance it didn't look like much. Everyone was still on their $200 buy in, so I assumed it was a new game. As soon as I got in though, it seemed to take on a life of it's own. $15 raises pre with 4 callers was normal. They were folding to a lot of 3bets though. I decided on just ripping it with 99+ and AQs+ any time this happened, and picked up a good few $50+ pots pre without any hassle.
We're about $450 deep and we straddle for $4. We're dealt
.
Raise to $20. 3 callers. We decide to just call as at this point I am cruising nicely and I feel more than comfortable navigating post flop with this crowd.
Nice
in the door alongside a
and a
.
We check call $50.
on the turn, and we check raise this gentleman all in as he bets $100. He had about $70 left to call off, but he took a good 3 minutes to think about it. We show as soon as he calls, and he mucks before the river comes in. Nice to spin up 3 buy ins in the course of an hour.
I bleed down to about $700 after getting involved in some tiny pots, and then we cooler the shit out of someone.
I open
in the Hijack for $15, with both the SB and BB calling.
Flop is 66Q.
Continue for $35
BB calls.
Turn is a Q. Absolute gin.
We bet $70.
The chap I am in the pot with sighs and says "Well, might as well go all in". He sighs, and moves all in. Like he doesn't have it. Like he's pulling the world's worst bluff. If he had 66 I would have kicked myself for not seeing it.
I snap it off. Pot is well over $1k now.
He flips over
.
River
.
He was gone before I even had a chance to see the blood drain from his face.
Ended the session at the Flamingo about $1250 up in the end. Which pushed us to about $1800 profit by 7pm.
I discovered a fun new game during my walks down the strip. It was called "Collect all the prostitute cards". Like seedy Pokemon cards, I wanted to catch them all. From Anya to Zara, I was determined to get as many as possible. I wanted to turn them into some sort of collage and frame them as a fun reminder of Las Vegas, but in the end I settled on collecting chips. Nobody is going to think less of me for collecting casino chips.
Had a little walk around Planet Hollywood, and sniffed out Bellagio as the next grind stop. It's basically across the road, but distance is so deceiving in Las Vegas. I was knackered by the time I got there, and the poker room was rammed. Lists as far as the eye can see for $1/$3 to $5/$10. I put myself on all of them and waited. Pulled up at the bar, and ordered a pint of Newcastle Brown. $13. If I wasn't up for the day I'd have sent it back. It's hardly one of your fancy artisan craft ales.
Nicely saddled up at the bar, I got talking to a young lady. Who seemed overly interested in a sweaty kid drinking what looked like a pint of warm drain water. She turned out to be a not so subtle lady of the night/early evening. She got away with one of my cigarettes and nothing else. I checked my collection of prostitute trading cards back at the hotel to see if she was on one of them. Still searching for the elusive Sadie card to complete the set.
We had $100 on the Blackjack and turned it into $300 in two hands. Broke the $2000 profit barrier and called it a night. Or tried to, as the Bellagio taxi line was longer than the line for the cash games.
It's a good feeling going to bed after a strong winning day. It's like it erases all the times you've gone to bed after being crushed.
Tomorrow it was time to forget all of our troubles and go downtown. Pizza is still good when it's close to two days old.
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