Senior Ladies' Night Out

A night at the casino with dinner and entertainment; doesn’t that sound grand? Some nights just don’t go according to plan.

The line to step in front of the clerk to collect the coveted dinner tickets snaked past the slot machines; standing three or four across, loyal gamblers waited, while we hurried to the end.  

A reward night for the big spenders sounded intriguing; I hava never been. A hundred foot line waiting for their reward dinner stalled where the air conditioned air didn’t go. Mayhem and I took turns standing in the line that only went twenty feet in an hour and ten minutes, no shit!

In a casino one must people watch. Gamblers are a unique tribe with their own language, which Mayhem claimed fluency in, so I headed across the floor to explore. Gambling is not my thing.

This senior lady alone at the bar didn’t attract one bit of attention; the bartender stood at the end of the bar chatting with a couple of servers, while I sat on a stool near the center. When the girls enjoyed a hearty laugh, the bartender glanced over her shoulder; I caught her eye, smiled, and nodded. She turned back to her conversation with no indication that I would ever see her again; didn’t I just feel special?

Senior ladies don’t pout; I got off my well rounded behind and waddled right up to the three with their heads bent together in some secret tale. 
“Hola,” I waved, “Con permiso, dame un grande vaso de hielo, por favor.”

The seasoned bar keep barely contained the curl of her lip. “You want a glass of water!” Disdain dripped from her mouth. Maybe it’s that white privilege thing people are all talking about these days on Facebook, but I am not accustomed to being treated this badly by service people, who live on tips, and I’m a generous tipper.

“No, por favor, yo quiero un vaso de hielo con limon,” said with the head tilt to enforce attention. “Tambien una botella de San Pellegrino,” I added with a smile.

I hadn’t returned the bitchiness; all three girls exhaled. Smiles bloomed all around; one of the girls patted the chair next to her saying, “Join us.”

Was this deja vu in another language? How far had the line moved? Where was Mayhem? Low blood sugar makes me crabby; I needed to eat something.

A young woman behind the desk, that the line faced, said something into a loud speaker. I don’t know, but it didn’t sound like ya’ll come into the dining room now, so I thought I’d find Mayhem to see que pasa.

People rushed the desk; two buff young men in the uniform suit of the casino looked menacingly, as they barked at people, who were yelling back with eyes bulging.  I haven’t been in a riot since the seventies, so watching blood vessels pulse over tight white collars felt surreal. Enough of this, I wanted out, as did Mayhem; we kissed our freebie dinner good-bye.

Down the road at a little restaurant called, Cravings, I had breakfast, and then, to our mutual satisfaction, we went to Wal-Mart.