The Memphis Chronicles

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Day 3 – 10:00am

It’s another gloriously cold morning as I awake still feeling silly (drunk) from the previous night.  I’d say on average I wake up 7 days a week with the taste of stale beer in my mouth, today is no exception.  Oh, I had mentioned I woke up missing something, well at this point I haven’t noticed yet, so we’ll get back to that.  Like clockwork, Cola is already awake, Sketch-mo is curled up in the fetal position on his baby cot, and Rizzo and Wild Bill snore away like lumberjacks on 500mgs of Ambien.  After I shower and brush the ethanol crystals off my teeth, I do a bed cannonball right in between the members of the 200+ club awaking them both.

Me  “Rise and shine pumpkin.”
Wild Bill  “What’s the big idea!?  Real fucking cool!”
Me  “We’re burning daylight, let’s go big guy.”
Rizzo  “Go away.”
Me  “Come on, who’s hungry?”
Rizzo  “Go away, nobody likes you.”
Me  “You want to gamble?”
Rizzo  “Alright I’m up.”

Cola sits in the corner practicing his poker skills against no one as the others ready themselves.  The Days Inn offers a free “continental breakfast,” so we decide to save some cash and check it out.  Of course, Wild Bill keeps it classy as he engages in conversation with the concierge.

Wild Bill (sarcastic) “How’s your breakfast?  I hear it’s topnotch!”
Concierge  “Well, it ain’t no Ramada Inn.”

Apparently Ramada Inn is the breadwinner when it comes to the sub par hospitality industry.  Take another moment to laugh condescendingly.

Me  “So where’s the continental breakfast?”
Wild Bill  “Yeah, so is it crab legs or lobster?”
Concierge  “Ha, you boys are funny.”

Ultimately she points us in the direction of a coffee maker and a microwave.  Next to the microwave sits several generically packaged old Danishes, a few hot chocolate packets, and a single orange.  I pick up a Danish and throw it directly in the trash without opening it just so I feel like I get my money’s worth.  Wild Bill takes a bite out of the orange with the peel still on and then baseball hucks it across the parking lot.

Day 3 – 11:30am

It’s time to devise something of a plan.  Cola and Rizzo are heading to Tunica to play cards; Wild Bill and Sketch-mo are hanging around Memphis with Sanford, Lora and some others to do touristy shit like visit Graceland or something.  I decide to jump into shotgun with the gamblers.  We 3 amigos peel out of the parking lot as I shout obscenities at Wild Bill while simultaneously giving him the finger.

As we head towards Tunica, we must once again drive through sketchy downtown Memphis.  We had done this a couple nights ago, but it was too dark to see just how rundown this area actually is.  Again I wonder why I have had this image in my head of Memphis being some sort of magical place; truth be told it’s probably one of the most desolated and depressing places I have been to in my life.  I mean, despite 1 street of drunken chaos, Memphis really brings nothing to the table.  Just when we think we’re out of the ghetto, I see someone who, according to their license plate, is a hustler.  Once we’re no longer in the smell proximity of any Memphis scavengers, Rizzo and I find it an appropriate time to fire up another California cigar.  Minutes later, I pass out; when I wake back up, we’ve made it to Tunica.

Day 3 – 12:15pm

If Southland Park was like Vegas with AIDS, Tunica is like Vegas with Down syndrome.  On our first venture, we had stopped at Grand Casino because it’s the first one you see; today we have gone a bit farther and will try our luck at Gold Strike.  Once Cola wakes me upon arrival, I hop out of the van like a giddy kid arriving at Chuck E. Cheese’s.  Rizzo and I have coat hanger sized smiles on our faces while Cola looks stern as he visualizes winning millions and never having to work again (start working).  Upon entry, this place isn’t half bad; the casino is very open and seems to only house half of the amount of degenerates that I was expecting.  As I walk pass the female security guard with street cred, she throws a complementing smile back at my involuntary one.  Next, she gives Rizzo a friendly wave and welcomes him to Gold Strike.  Once she spots Cola, she stops all 3 of us and immediately demands identification; allow me to digress for just a moment.

Like I’ve stated several times, Rizzo and Cola are childhood friends of mine; I met them when I was 8 years old, they lived in the same neighborhood as my cousin.  Rizzo always hated when I was in the neighborhood and never wanted to “play” while I was around.  My contention is that he was threatened by my awesomeness; he was the neighborhood stud when it came to sports, and when I was around he finally had some decent competition.  Although, truth be told he was always a little better than me (wow, I guess I can be humble).  As for Cola, well let’s just say he was the kid who always showed up wearing sandals so he would get grandfathered into the “All-time QB” position and not have to run while we played football in the streets.  Ok, I’m getting off topic; Cola has always been the eldest of our group, yet apparently he looks like he’s 7 years old.  Anywhere and everywhere we go, he gets IDed; whether it be to a bar, the dog tracks, a dirty movie theater, Celebration Station, or even a regular movie theater, it does not matter.  The kid might as well just strut around in Overalls while slinging a fucking Yo-Yo; back to the story.

Me  “You weren’t going to ID us until you saw this fucker (Cola) right?”
Female Security Guard With Street Cred  “Uh huh.”
Me  “Isn’t it funny that he’s older than [Rizzo and I]?”
Female Security Guard With Street Cred  “I’d say it’s more ironic than funny.”
Me  “Oh a wise ass huh?”
Female Security Guard With Sense Of Humor  “You boys have fun.”

Once inside, we take an escalator upstairs to the poker room.  They only have a couple tables open, so all 3 of us sit down together.  Generally when you go to play cards with friends, you don’t sit at the same table because you want to take other people’s money; today we are left with no choice but I don’t really care.  Not only are we seated at the same table, but we are also sitting right next to each other; Rizzo in the middle, Cola to his right, myself to his left.  This table has no idea what has just hit them.  The 3 of us are actually decent poker players, I mean all it takes is a little bit of smarts (to be decent, we aren’t professionals or anything), but judging by the Fu Manchu which extends beyond the reasonable chin level and down the neck of the man who sits across from me, he is lacking said smarts.

The waitress comes by to take our order, by doing so she is adding all sorts of fuel to this fire.  My morning (1pm) drink of choice, as well as Rizzo’s, is a Mimosa.  I’ve never been much a fan of Bloody Marys, any drink that requires Tabasco sauce is not for me; unless of course I lose a bet and bitterly order someone else a Prairie Fire (warm Tequila with a dab of Tabasco sauce).  Cola starts pounding Red Bulls to heighten his senses thus optimizing his level of play.  Our waitress returns with the drinks before we even have a chance to buy-in, she is now my new best friend.  Like most college kids, I never have any cash on me, except when I’m on vacation.  I have 200 bucks in my pocket, so I have yet to notice my missing credit card (yeah, that’s what I woke up without).  We each buy-in with 100 bones, and this is when the fun begins.

Day 3 – 1:00pm

Remember how I previously stated that if you are a serious poker player, I am your nemesis?  Well today, much like most days, I will not be making many friends.  Let’s also keep in mind that I was a tad loopy when I walked into this casino, so now it’s just a matter of moments before the Hair Gel Effect takes over.  If you are not familiar with this term, allow me to digress for just a moment.

The Hair Gel Effect mainly refers to losers with Faux-Hawks, but for all intents and purposes, it’s a simple concept which anyone can understand.  If you have had gel in your hair the previous night, then all you have to do is wet your hair in the morning to reactivate the old gel so you can look just as stupid today as you did yesterday.  The same holds true with drinking; if you were fall down stupid drunk last night, all it takes is a few drops of alcohol to reactivate last night’s level of awesomeness.  So what may just be 1 or 2 morning cocktails quickly spirals into a repeat shit-show, hence the Hair Gel Effect; back to the story.

I have already sucked down my 2^nd Mimosa before having played a single hand.  Like I mentioned early, the best way to get sauced-up for cheap at a casino is to play poker.  Cola has already taken a few big pots and is up about 100 bucks, Rizzo sits about even, and I’ve just lost a few blinds so I have about 90 bucks in front of me (we are playing at a 1-2 No Limit table).  As the 3^rd round of Mimosas arrives, I start with the table talk.

Me  “So Tunica huh?  You guys got like a Walmart here or something?”

The gentleman seated to my left wearing a cowboy costume did not understand my sarcastic and condescending tone, so he proceeds to give me directions to the local Walmart.  I respect his integrity and we become friends.  Just then, Rizzo takes a big pot off some chump across the table.

Me  “Woo Wee, looks like the next round’s on you!  Or actually, that guy!”

I point at That Guy, he is not amused.

That Guy  “[Rizzo] got lucky.”
Rizzo  “How do you figure.”
That Guy  “Ran me down.”
Rizzo  “Sir, I flopped the nut straight.”

That Guy mumbles and trails off as he tries fruitlessly to verbally retaliate; just then our waitress arrives.

Me  “Hey new best friend, another round please.”
New Best Friend  “Sure boys.”
Rizzo  “This time, just a splash of OJ, you know, for color.”
New Best Friend  “Oh I’ll take care of you guys!”

Rizzo tips her with That Guy’s money and I tell him thanks; again he is not amused.  Cola and Rizzo have been tipping huge on all the rounds, so New Best Friend loves us.  We appear extra suave because I’m sure the kind of tip she’s used to getting is some drunken snaggletooth telling her to wear a baggy shirt to help cloak her muffin top.  Right after she returns with round 4, I am ready to play my first hand.  The people at the table should take notice of this and assume my hand is really good, but they don’t.  I have pocket Kings or KK if you will; I raise to $10 before the flop.  2 people call me, That Guy and some dude with a facial tattoo that just screams “hire me.”

Me  “Oh no, not you sir!”

That Guy grunts.

Me  “Ok, so honestly guys, what do you have?”
Hire Me  “Aces.”
That Guy  “Me too.”

I do not believe either of these lying degenerates.

Me  “Oh man, I only have Kings.  Looks like I’m fucked.”

That Guy and Hire Me let out a little laughter as the flop comes; it’s 2, Q, K rainbow (all different suits).  I have 3 Kings, and right now the best possible hand.  I’m first to act, so like a sneaky son of a bitch, I check.

Me  “Well I flopped trip Kings, might as well check.”

Rizzo and Cola know that I actually have trip Kings because they have seen me do this time and time again.  That Guy bets $10 and Hire Me folds; the turn card is a meaningless 4.  I check again.

Me  “Might as well keep slow playing because I think you’re gonna bet.”

I am right, That Guy bets because he is stupid.  I just call; the river is a useless 7.  There is no chance of a flush, so I have the nuts (best hand).  Now any poker player will tell you that I should make a value bet here (a bet that is substantial, but just small enough where it’s almost worth it for That Guy to call), but I believe That Guy to be incredibly stupid so I check again.  I am right; he is incredibly stupid and bets $20.  I reraise to $60 and he calls with little hesitation.  The table is shocked when I flip over KK; they are baffled by my honesty.

Me  “I told you.”

That Guy has just been cleaned out and leaves the table unsatisfied (he didn’t show his hand and I didn’t ask to see it).  Hire Me laughs and praises himself for getting out of the hand early.  The Walmart directions guy in the cowboy costume congratulates me.

Walmart Cowboy  “Wow, great hand!”
Me  “You dress silly but I like you.”

I have just won about $150 dollars, so between tipping the dealer, the blinds, and throwing Rizzo and Cola a few coins for the previous rounds, I’m up about $100.  I invite Walmart Cowboy to join Rizzo and me in our next round of Mimosas (now basically just champagne with an orange hue).  He agrees so I hug him and then flag down New Best Friend and put in our drink request.  We have only been playing for about an hour, but each one of us is up big; Cola is actually up about $400.  I make a general announcement to the table.

Me  “Don’t you people have jobs?  Christ it’s 2pm on a Friday.”

The majority of players shoot me dirty looks then stare back at their cards; Walmart Cowboy laughs like a hyena and then cheers’ me.  Some chubby Asian guy does not like me insulting his day job and decides to fight fire with fire.

Chubby Asian  “Why aren’t you at work?”
Me  “Because I work at my college gym and it’s closed.”
Chubby Asian  “College huh?”
Rizzo  “Yeah, ever heard of it?”

Chubby Asian cannot compete with our tag team wit so he gives up.  I had forgotten I was playing poker until the dealer asked me to fold or call; I call without looking at my cards to show how ballsy (drunk) I am.  There are a lot of people in this hand, so I decide to look at my cards.  I have pocket 5s.  When the flop comes 5, 5, 4, I am again first to act so I bet $10 and then announced that I have pocket 5s and everyone should fold immediately.

Me  “I have pocket 5s, I suggest you all fold immediately.

Walmart Cowboy is practically passed out on the table; apparently he too is currently experiencing the Hair Gel Effect.  Rizzo and Cola are also in the hand, so heeding my warning, they both fold immediately.  Hire Me looks me up and down then folds.  The action is to Chubby Asian.  Chubby Asian apparently received his GED from the same high school as That Guy because he calls my bet.

Me  “You saw my pocket Kings like 10 minutes ago, I’m not lying.”
Chubby Asian  “We’ll see about that.”

Yeah, we will.  I don’t even look at the turn card, instead I just eye-fuck Chubby Asian and announce a $20 bet.  Like a pussy, he looks at the table and then calls.

Me  “How are you going to explain to your children why daddy can’t afford braces?”

The river comes, again I don’t look.

Me  “$40.”

Chubby Asian is eyeing me up big time.  He looks very serious; I look like Nick Nolte’s mug shot.  Chubby Asian exhales and then says…

Chubby Asian  “I’m all in.”

I call instantly and flip over pocket 5s.  Everyone at the table is laughing except for Chubby Asian.  I explain to him how he has only himself to blame.

Me  “You have only yourself to blame.”

He buys back in and stays at the table as I order another round.  I have just won a $300 dollar pot.  We continue to play for a little bit longer, but by this point we are all growing tiresome of this crowd and we are getting pretty hungry.  The dealer tells us that it’s our lucky day because they have a Steak and Lobster Buffet on Friday and Saturday.  I ask him if he considers a surefire case of Salmonella lucky?  Confident that the booze will shield our stomachs from any form of bacterial infection, Rizzo and I decide to give it a whirl; a sober Cola also agrees, apparently he’s just a natural daredevil.

Day 3 – 2:48pm

Once back downstairs, we stumble into New Best Friend at her server station during our search for the buffet.  She points us in the right direction as well as fills up 2 full glasses of straight champagne.  We get to the buffet but there’s a slight problem, the Steak and Lobster Buffet doesn’t kick-off until 3pm.  Since we have absolutely nothing to do, we just wait it out.  While waiting, we count up our winnings very publicly.  Between the 3 of us, we sat down at that table with $300 in play, now, combined we have over $1000.  With $700 extra dollars, you can be sure tonight’s festivities will be extra sloppy.  Cola has the most profit, he’s up $350.  I’m up $250 and Rizzo is up a little over $100; not bad for a couple hours of drinking.  Unlike Cola who intends to save his winnings, I do not.  I plan to invest mine, well I guess if you consider booze and possible hookers an investment.  As we wait for 3pm to roll around, Rizzo uses his Adam Sandler-style good looks to befriend the cashier.

At the stroke of 3, we pay our $15.99 each and attack the buffet.  I’ll be honest here; the food was actually pretty good.  The lobster tails/steak cuts were small and it took forever to get seconds, but for 16 bucks who’s gonna bitch?  After we get our money’s worth, we decide to pack up shop and part ways with Gold Strike.  I contemplate lining my pockets and sneaking some food to Walmart Cowboy, but by this point he’s probably out cold.  Once outside, Cola starts to get that junkie itch.  Gold Strike shares a parking lot with the Horseshoe Casino, so Cola uses his “I mean, we’re already here” argument to get us to go in with him.

Cola finds the poker room, and Rizzo and I decide to try our hands at Blackjack.  Rizzo can’t seem to catch a break, but I’m still on a hot streak.  We get a round of Crown n’ Gingers to keep our hands company.  Rizzo loses about 50 bucks, but since I go up $100, I toss him $50 (that’s how we roll).  Cola comes huffing and puffing into the Blackjack area.

Cola  “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Me  “How much you lose?”
Cola  “Quickest $150 of my life.”
Me  “Whatever, you’re still up, let’s ride.”
Cola  “Fucking guy ran me down.”
Me  “Blah blah, we’ve heard it before Cola, shake it off.”

Cola plays 1 hand of Blackjack in a desperate attempt to regain his lost winnings; he loses 25 bucks in 3 seconds.  I throw him 25 bucks for being the designated driver and we all leave smiling.

Day 3 – 5:30pm

Once we pile back in the car and hit the road, I take my wallet out of my back pocket and proceed to jam my winnings into it.  This is when I realize that my credit card is missing.  Losing a credit card is a shitty feeling, losing it while in a foreign area, even shittier.  The best part is that I lost it last night, and since I was still roaming around hours after my brain shut off, it could be anywhere.  Also, cellular phone technology at this time doesn’t exactly make it easy to look up numbers; my particular phone is debatably half a step above a beeper.  After I search my pockets and do some detective work with the found receipts, my best guess is that my card is at Silky O’Sullivans.  I get their number through 411 and proceed to call multiple times while the phone just rings endlessly.  Since Beale Street is on the way to the hotel and I really want my credit card back, we stop by the bar.  I hop out and run inside while Cola circles the block; I see a female bartender.

Me  “Hi, I was here last night, think I left my card.  Do you remember me?”

She does not smile, she remembers me.

Me  “Uh yeah, so about that card?”

She goes to the other side of the bar and returns with my card.  Eureka, I’m whole again!  Although, something seems a bit off…

Me  “So was there a tab with this?”
Debbie Downer  “We took care of it.”
Me  “Um what does that mean?”
Debbie Downer  “You are a very generous tipper.”
Me  “What the fuck?”
Debbie Downer  “Please leave sir.”

I contemplate verbal abuse but find it better just to leave quietly.  Later I found out that my bill, including tip, was only 20 bucks.  I once left a card at a bar and was charged an extra $100, for some reason I was actually not drinking (heavily) and kept a copy of my receipt.  I proudly went back there later in the week and told the hot 20 something bartendress to go fuck herself.

Once back at the hotel, our room is empty.  I receive a text from Wild Bill saying that he’s at the adjoining Mexican restaurant.  He also alerts me that Amanda and her friends have arrived and the city is now alive with college kids.  After I throw on some UCF paraphernalia, it’s time to join forces with all the parties at our hotel and really throw things into high gear.

CONTINUE ON TO PART 4