A few years ago, Wendy, another friend of ours, her brother Steve, her now ex-husband, her parents and I decided to make a trip to Vegas for Steve's 21st birthday. First mistake, never take a 21 year old to Vegas. It was 3 days after he was legal to drink and he is quite a character anyways, so we were setting ourselves up for trouble. One of the nights, it was getting late and everyone wanted to go to bed except Steve. Since Wendy and I were single we were left to "watch him" aka make sure he did not get arrested.
We were staying at the Flamingo and we made the trek down to NY, NY. Do you know how far that is in heels? Freakin' far! Steve wanted to gamble and Wendy and I wanted to explore so we parked him at a Blackjack table, gave him our cell numbers and told him to call us if he got up and left the table, even if it was just to go to the bathroom. About an hour later we were heading back to the table and flirting with some guys from Chicago when we heard a ruckus. A dealer was speaking loudly to one of the players - "Sir, you can not call people retarded!" As we glanced over, this was meant for Steve.
As we hurried over to Steve's table - did I tell you our feet really hurt - we found out that Steve had drank about 9 Yeager bombs while we were gone. Steve is tall but not 9 Yeager bombs tall, it was clear that he was quite inebriated. As Steve saw us approach, he got up (cards and all) and started to approach us. That is when the pit boss and security got involved since it is quite a NO NO to leave the table with your cards. After ushering him back to the table, we decided this should be his last game and it was really time to go to bed.
Now the fun began. Tell me how fun it is to walk about 1 1/2 miles with a drunk person saying inappropriate things to passerby's while continuing to drink when our feet hurt? I tell you it was an experience. We were laughing our asses off one minute, mortified the next and pissed within the next 60 seconds. When we finally got back to the hotel, we wrote Steve's room number on his hand. Wendy and I were on a different floor and we were too tired (it was 4 am at this time) to walk him the hundred miles from the elevator to his room. So we shoved him out of the elevator, told him to go directly to his room and prayed we would see him in the morning. Steve appeared around 12 the following afternoon wearing dark sun glasses. Our friend and her parents came armed with the story of an "incident" in the halls at 4 am where someone was knocking on every door looking for his parents.
That night, Wendy and I were not placed on Steve duty!
Note: Off to Put in Bay for vacation - blog will resume on Tuesday, September 22nd.
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