Last time out, I mentioned that I'd spent a quick two days plus at Caesars Indiana for some poker doings. This time, it's the tale of the bad beat, and since it didn't specifically have to do with poker, it's safe for the telling.
After about 12 hours of activities and three or four more doing some late night copywriting and editing ($10.99 for 24 hours of high-speed internet connectivity was the going rate) I finally tumbled into bed around two or so with a massive sore throat and a hope for a few hours of sleep. No such luck. I tossed and turned, turned and tossed, and just when I finally managed to doze off...
"Open the fucking door!" It's coming from a couple of doors down, by the sound.
I hear more shouting, and then...
It's 3:57 a.m. by my hotel-room clock when the first bangs occur, and this on the seventh floor of the Caesars Indiana hotel??!? It keeps going on for five, six, seven minutes, and it's just not stopping. The shouting was bad enough, but the banging was so hard that my bed literally shook from the vibrations. There is a security guard posted just yards from the elevator doors on the ground floor, and he could be up there in 45 seconds, tops. Has no one called this crap in? Well, I didn't. Guess that answers that. Damn rich drunks. Finally it ends, or I just pass out from the fatigue. Couldn't say for sure.
There were a few recognizable poker names at the event I was attending. Next morning, I'm idly chatting with Mark Seif about various small stuff as the day's poker doings begin and it occurs to me to ask him if he'd heard the ruckus from hours earlier. I figured he was probably on my floor, since I already knew Paul Wasicka was, as I'd ridden down in the 'vator with Wasicka the morning prior.
"Yeah, what the hell was that?" says Seif, or something similar.
I tell him about the rotating drunks and the slamming doors. I ask him where he was, and it turns out he was way down at the other end of the hall. It's a long hall, since the hotel is a tall, narrow, single-wing affair that must be a hundred yards long from one end to the other. Seif was 50 or 60 yards down and he got woken up by the door-banging drunks as well. I say to Mark, "I almost called security on them."
Mark's reply: "You should've."
Turned out it was my second drunk encounter in two days at the place, too. The first one happened the day before when I shared an elevator ride down to the lobby with a middle-aged couple and their two or three nightclub-age daughters. Dad was potted, so reeking from some sweet booze that I had to turn away from him in the elevator. He even mentioned that he'd had a couple! Thanks for sharing, kind sir! I couldn't have figured it out by myself.
And, he and his clan were headed -to- the casino, not from it. Or rather, the "vessel," as the intercom informs the gamblers as they walk across the metal planking to the moored barge where the casino is housed.
Interesting place. The complex has at least a couple of nightclubs, one of which had long lines of women waiting to gain entry each night. No guys, just girls, and in a wide range of age from 18 to 45. All dressed like they were going to the Elizabeth, Indiana version of PURE... which, come to think of it, they probably were. No specific comment on some of the outfits I saw, except to say I think some of the women consulted drag queens for their wardrobe choices.
By the way, I mentioned the word "boonies" in my last post as describing the casino's location. I think reading between the lines of the official directions to the casino from the Caesars Indiana site verifies that. As they say it:Directions to Caesars
* Take I-64 west of Louisville to exit 123 in New Albany, IN.
* Turn right at the bottom of the ramp.
* Pass through 2 stop lights. At the stop sign turn right (south) on Main St. (Indiana State Road 111).
* Indiana SR 111 will split to a "Y." At the split bear left and proceed across the railroad crossing. Caesars Indiana Resort is approximately 8 miles ahead.
Boonies! As I mentioned in a Skype chat to Logan, one of the PN writers, they left off the line saying, "If you hit the pig ranch you've gone too far."