Indecent Counter-Proposal
May 17, 2010
Well, another Triple Crown race, another loss.
My longshot strategy is 0-2 this year. I know, “that’s why they call them long shots”, but where the hell is equine Jeff Gillooly when you need him?
Sahara Sports Book
For the Preakness, I decided to give my money to the Sahara book, but when the lone guy behind the counter refused to take his eyes off of a televised game to answer my questions, I got back in the car and made a quick drive to the Hilton.
Hey, Nevada Public Utilities Commission, do you see that … the competitive marketplace actually works.
When I say that “I” drove to the Hilton, I don’t mean that I actually operated the gas pedal and the steering wheel. The fact is, I only drive a small percentage of the time I go somewhere by vehicle. I hate driving, I know just enough people in this town that I don’t have to, and my motto is … “why drive when you can be driven?”. Driving is for commoners, and if you typically drive yourself, then I am better than you in every way.
“That’s not true, Rex, I actually like driving!”
Sure you do. You also eat ramen noodles every night because you find the taste irresistible. Loser.
I digress.
The Hilton has been my primary book for years, and even though I have tried to give other books some love over the past year or so, I always find myself back at the Hilton when I just want familiarity. In a weird way, I am Bill Clinton, the Hilton Sports Book is Hillary, and the other sports books in town are chubby interns who are willing to stick cigars in their glory holes.
The Las Vegas Hilton Hotel and Casino
Las Vegas Hilton Sports Book
As we pulled into the rear sports book entrance, my driver (yeah, as if that is his sole occupation) told me to go ahead inside and place my bets, and he would wait outside for me. On the weekends, parking at the Hilton book is extremely tight, and he rightfully assumed that it would take him 10 minutes to find a spot.
I went in, grabbed a bet sheet, cross-checked the odds with the board, and placed my bets at the window. After putting my tickets in my shirt pocket, I shot a quick “I’m on my way out” text message to let my driver know that I was, uh, on my way out, and I stood at the curb and waited. He texted me back letting me know that he was circling the block around the Convention Center. I was going to have to stand outside and wait for about 5 minutes.
I was not happy with this development. Only insecure douchebags who valet park their cars stand outside and wait, but it looked like I was finally going to experience how the other half lived. Oh, the humanity.
As I was standing on the bottom step of the Hilton Sports Book, a young woman came walking out of the parking lot, stopped beside me, and asked me if I knew what time it was. I looked at my watch, relayed the time to her, and she followed up with “So, you bettin’ the Preakness?”
Now, I could tell that this woman was not from here. She was very young, maybe 22 years old, had dirty blond hair, spoke with a distinct southern accent, and didn’t look upside-down in her mortgage. She was a solid 9, and looked far too “classy” to strike up conversations with strangers in the rear parking lot of the Hilton. Since I didn’t just swim out of my father’s nutsack last week, I knew the score, and decided to beat her to the punch.
“Yep, I’m betting the race, and if you’re willing to spend $300, I’ll keep you company for the next hour.”
It would be hard for me to describe the look on her face. My response was clearly unexpected, and she was at an absolute loss for words.
After ten awkward seconds ticked by, the silence was killing me, so I said “Fine, make it $200, but you have to wash my underwear afterward”.
This time, after another awkward pause, she said “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that.”
The woman was a looker, but I wouldn’t want her on my debating team. With that little exchange, my ride arrived, and she disappeared into the Hilton.
God, I hope that lady was actually a prostitute.
Anyway, by the time I got home and pulled up the race results, I realized that I had once again lost every bet. This is really becoming a habit. Fortunately, I have one last chance to redeem myself.
Next up … Belmont.
If I don’t make anything on that race, I’m just going to stick with Sigma Derby for the rest of the year.
Written by keith on May 17, 2010 at 4:02 am
i think it’s even better if she WASN”T a hooker.
that’ll teach her for being polite.
Written by huddler on May 17, 2010 at 8:21 am
Belmont will be hard to pick. I heard that Lookin at Lucky and Super Saver will NOT be running there. This will be your race to pull the longshot out of your ass.
Written by ColinFromLasVegas on May 17, 2010 at 4:42 pm
She was, Rex. I don’t think I have to tell you that. You already knew. And her reaction confirmed this as a fact. It seems your brutal frankness caught her off guard, along with the fact she was young and unseasoned.
They hang out that back sports book entrance. The are too noticeable when they hang out around the west and south entrances to the Hilton. Too much security for them. Plus, since there was a big sting by pussy posses from LVMPD a few years ago, they try to ply their trade off Strip…only going to the Strip when they’re called by some sucker…er…um….I mean…customer.
The “trick rollers” troll around that back entrance alot. Especially when a convention is in town. Out of sight of security and the customers of the Hilton who are families with kids. Because if a family complains to security, that chick will be duck walked down the street or chucked over the wall into the golf course across the street. Out of sight. Problem solved.
And they will only approach someone who is by themself. Which she did with you. Either that or it was your animal magnetism…along with the bulging wallet in your back pocket.
Not like I know hookers alot. I’ve just worked around the Hilton before. And I notice things.
To add to your escapade, go hang out behind the MGM Grand, kind of close to underneath the monorail station at about 5AM every morning. You’ll see a parade of hooks headed east toward Koval. The security guards in MGM Grand roust the working girls and escort them out, telling them, your work day is over, if you ain’t made money by now, you ain’t going to make it, now run along, we want you gone before the tourists with children wake up and come out and see you and get horrified and we get complaints out the ying yang. I haven’t been down there for awhile, but I’m sure this still happens.
Written by Snotick on May 18, 2010 at 1:54 am
Reminds me of a time I was walking back to my room at the Stardust (RIP). It was about 3 in the morning and there were two women sitting at a table outside the bar near the elevators, reading the newspaper. One of them saw me walking alone and motioned for me to come over to their table. When I sat down the woman said “for $200 why dont the 3 of us go up to your room and have some fun” To which I replied. “Sweet, your gonna pay me $200 to have sex with me. I just won some money playing blackjack and now this. I love this city” She just gave me an odd stare. I told her no, but thanks for the memory.
Written by FleaStiff on May 21, 2010 at 1:34 pm
Young, blond, Southern drawl, aware of current sporting events, easy conversationalist, Right-Side-Up in her mortgage, …what’s wrong with you?
Written by ManInBlack on May 22, 2010 at 11:09 am
Polite? In Vegas? Oh Hell No. We don’t do polite here in Sin City