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It was a beautiful day in North Dakota. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I had just puked all over myself. Again.
You’d think that after fifteen years of living with chronic illness, I’d be used to my body. But no, cystic fibrosis has a mind of its own. The worst thing? As I lay in bed, my stupid bag IV bag was blocking the view of my gymnastics medals and trophies. Not that I stood any shot of making the team this year. Freshman year I was considered a protégée; this year I’m the freak who fell asleep in the locker room. That’s CF— one minute I feel superhuman (or at least human), but the next minute I feel so tired I can barely run through my routines. Then we have today.
I’m fairly certain I’m not going to survive long enough to compete for a spot on the competition roster. My head pounded as the sunlight hit my eyes. “Sara, I need you!”
Like magic, Sara was already pulling the blankets off my body. “I’m here Sean, I’m here,” she said as she loaded my blankets into a laundry bag. “I think we need to get you to the hospital.”
“No, please. Just give me a few more days on the IV.”
“Sean, it’s been over a week. Your fever has only gotten worse.”
I began to cry, sobbing into my pillow. All I ever wanted was to feel normal in my own skin. Because being normal comes with happiness, right? I wanted to fall in love, I wanted to get married, maybe even have a family. I kicked my IV just enough to see my trophies: evidence of the alternate reality version of myself. There was a photo of me in freshman year, on the rings. Even with my long hair whipping all over my face, I nailed my gymnastics routine like a rock star. I was the youngest person to ever win an individual gold at the state level. I wiped tears from my eyes as Sara handed me a clean shirt. Who am I kidding? I’m going to die alone in a hospital bed.
“Don’t cry.” Sara kissed my cheek. “You know, with how light your eyes are, you look like an ice-zombie.”
“What?” I instantly perked up. Sara always knew how to make me smile.
“Once we get to the hospital, I want to braid your fairy-princess hair.”
I laughed. For the record, I do not have fairy-princess hair. I have surfer hair, long blonde waves that cascade down my back. Hair destined for a dive into the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes when I’m in the shower I’ll stand under the flow, letting the water wash over my face. In my mind I’m in California, emerging from beneath the waves. I look nothing like Sara, my remarkable sister. I like to call her my twin since we’re the same age—not that we have anything in common, beyond sharing a room. I’m six-foot tall, which doesn’t help much when your sport of choice is gymnastics. I have my meds to thank for that; for the first fourteen years of my life I was prescribed human growth hormones to give my sick body a fighting chance. While my adorable, amazing sister was a brilliant science nerd, destined to change the world.
I was snapped back to reality by a coughing fit. I could feel the mucus trying to come out, but my lungs were seizing up. I reached for my inhaler. The medicine helped relax my lungs enough to take in air, but now the room was spinning. “Sara, I don’t think I can make it out of bed.”
Sara was already gone. She quickly returned with our mother, who lifted me out of bed and helped me to the door. “Sara, disconnect his IV, make note of how much is left in the bag, and then I need you to grab my keys and start the car.”
I kind of passed out just as we got going, but at least I was lying with my head in Sara’s lap. That was about as comfortable as I was going to get. She was cradling my head in her arms. Although small, my sister was always my hero. She could do it all: administer IVs; monitor my blood sugar; and even perform chest physiotherapy to loosen the mucus in my lungs. Mom was brave, too. She always had been, from the day she’d chosen to adopt an abandoned baby with CF. Then having to raise us on her own when Dad died on a disaster relief trip to the Philippines.
I could feel Sara stroking my face. I looked up to see tears in her eyes. With fifteen years of caring for me, my illness affected her as much as it affected me. I tried to cheer her up. “So, are you going to braid my fairy-princess hair?”
She gave me a weak grin. “Let’s hold off on that until you get a bed.”
Less than an hour later, I was admitted to the ICU. I couldn’t stop coughing. The port on my side was reopened in an attempt to drain my lungs manually. I had to be put on oxygen and blood thinners to relieve the pressure in my chest. I’m told that the fever spiked into brain damage territory. My antibiotic levels were adjusted: different amounts, different combinations. The nurse brought in a blanket that appeared to be made of hundreds of cold packs fused together. On the third night in the ICU, the dreaded words “breathing tube” were mentioned. I hated breathing tubes. They were unbearably painful and made it impossible to speak.
I grabbed Mom’s hand. “Please, I can fight this. You know I can. I just need you to believe in me.” I wanted so badly to get out of bed. I wanted to get back to training, to feel the burn of strength in my muscles. To feel my body pushing itself towards greatness, not just to survive. Hell, freshman year I trained and competed with a fractured wrist and three bruised ribs after getting the living crap kicked out of me. That was how bad-ass I could be when CF wasn’t hijacking my body.
Mom turned to the doctor. “What are the other options?”
The tall, elderly man looked confused. “I strongly recommend a breathing tube, just until we can get the fever stabilized.” That was the easy answer for him; put the kid on a breathing tube and come back to him later. And I sure as fuck did not want to be tethered to a machine.
The way I figured it, the fewer machines I was reliant on, the faster I was going to recover. I wanted to get back to training or I wanted to die. I had little use for the gray area in between.
Mom shook her head vigorously. “No. Put him under sedation. It’ll give his body a chance to rest.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Foster—”
“You listen to me—that boy is more than numbers on a chart.”
“I know this is difficult—”
“He’s my son!” She squeezed my hand. Sara was already holding my other hand. “Sean’s on full oxygen and he’s still breathing on his own. I’m choosing to have faith in him.”
The doctor quietly left the room.
Mother kissed my forehead. “I love you. And I’ll always believe in you.”
The next day, the fever went down to a better, yet still unsafe level. I suffered a seizure due to lack of oxygen to my brain, prompting the doc’s insistence on a breathing tube. That, or a tracheotomy. I was strong, but would not survive the ordeal unscarred. Mother looked to Sara.
“Tracheotomy,” Sara quickly answered. The doctor would be cutting a hole in my throat, inserting a tube that would attach to a ventilator and function as an alternative means of supplying oxygen to my weakened lungs. The process would be much more invasive and painful, but at least I would still be able to speak.
By my eighth day in the hospital, I was too weak to remain conscious for more than few hours a day. My lungs were failing and if the infection spread to my heart, I could very well be dead in a few months. I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about the ache in my throat or the pounding in my head. I seemed a little dead from the neck down.
A soft snore made me look to Sara. She was slumped in the seat by my bed with a book resting on her lap. I couldn’t make out the title, but it looked science-y and intimidating. She’d been with me all week, having been given permission by her school to study at the hospital. It seemed to take minutes of effort to coordinate my arm muscles, but I managed to reach over and nudge her awake. “Go to school tomorrow, please.”
“Why?” she whispered. “I want stay with you. I want to be by your side when you get out of this bed. That’s the way it’s always been!”
“Go to school,” I repeated. I knew what she meant. Whenever I was hospitalized, she was always by my side. “It’s not worth it for you to stay.” I didn’t dare look in her direction.
She gripped my hand. “I have nothing to look forward to at school. You’re all I have.”
I sighed. Sadly, she was probably correct. Her vigilance in caring for me didn’t exactly do much for her social life. “Maybe a miracle will be waiting,” I said as I yanked my hand away, a little ruder then I should have.
“Or maybe you’ll die in your sleep.” Sara took a deep breath, shook her head, and left the room.
The next day, Sara didn’t show up at nine as usual, which was good— it meant she’d probably gone to school. Playing hooky was like sacrilege to her. Some part of me saw this as God throwing me a life line. A little after five she scampered in, taking a seat on the plastic chair by my bed. “Sean, are you awake?”
“Is that my miracle?” I asked motioning my head to the doorway, which framed a tall, supermodel-like silhouette.
Sarah turned my room lights on for me. I squinted, but then couldn’t stop staring as the girl walked towards the bed. The stunningly beautiful Latina wore her hair in a pixie cut with bangs sweeping over her eyes. She lovingly caressed my hand. “Hello, Jenny-Q.” Even with her new look, I would recognize her beauty anywhere. Up close I could see her caramel skin, high cheekbones, pouty lips and large brown eyes that sparkled with hints of gold.
“Hey, Sean,” she whispered. “Sorry, I’m so nervous. I didn’t even know if you’d remember me. I have no idea what to say. I know if my dad was here, he’d try to get us to pray, or some shit like that.”
“Remember you? You saved my life. I don’t know what I was thinking, that day. I should’ve run.”
“No shit,” Sara muttered. She still hadn’t really forgiven me for talking back to Richie Cross like I was on some kind of suicide mission.
“I knew what to expect, after my run-in with Lisa,” I admitted, not meeting Sara’s eyes. “Richie wasn’t about to let me get away with screwing around with his girl. It had to be me coming on to her, because Lisa would never cheat on him, no.”
“Why I thought I’d get on better with that douchebag than Lisa had, I’ll never know.” Jen rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe he called you an ass-cancer.”
“Yeah, well. I shouldn’t have told him I had cancer. It just seemed easier than explaining Cystic Fibrosis to a dumbfuck.”
Sarah folded her arms. “I get that, but you didn’t do yourself any favors with your comeback.”
She glared at Jen, who was giggling. I’d told Richie that I’d rather be an ass-cancer than the only black guy at White Creek with a micro-penis, and then came the beat-down. I remembered the ‘fight’ clear as day. I’d lifted my chin, daring Richie and his gang of dickwads to attack. In the moment, I honestly felt like I could take whatever they had to give, but the blows came too fast and too hard. I could hear people laughing, even cheering. My efforts to shield my face were proving pointless as my attackers dragged my body away from the lockers and started stomping my head. It was when I’d started to succumb to the pain that I heard screams and voices coming to my defense. One by one, the attackers stepped off, but before I could start to feel the relief, Richie grabbed me by the hair and blew cigarette smoke directly into my blood-covered face. It was Jenny-Q who’d rummaged in my bag and helped me with my inhaler, preventing a choking spiral that would’ve ended me in minutes. But it got her slapped hard. Through eyes which were rapidly swelling shut, I saw Richie hauling her down the hallway by her arm, railing at her about her lack of respect.
“Yo! Earth to Sean!” Sara said, shaking my arm. “Were you sleeping with your eyes open?”
“Sorry.” I smiled at Jenny, still feeling guilty that I couldn’t do a damn thing about what Richie did to her after she’d defended me. “I never forgot your courage, Jenny-Q. Hell, I didn’t even get to thank you. Where did you go?”
She shrugged. “I took a little ‘hiatus’ from school. Anyway, like I told Sara, Jenny-Q was a slut with super-short shorts and over-processed ringlets. Now I’m just Jen.”
“I like the pixie cut,” I told her. “New era, new image, right?”
“Yeah, that, and also I used so much hair product that I gave myself a scalp infection.” Covering her embarrassment, she grabbed the bed controls and took it upon herself to move my body to an upright position. Her fingers brushed a lock of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I just want to see those beautiful eyes.”
I held her gaze for a long moment, trying to figure out her body language. It seemed like she was being more than gentle—I felt a little like she was hitting on me.
Sara glanced back from the muted TV. She’d been surfing the channels. “Jen knows all the cool hospital tricks, like how to get nonfamily into the ICU.”
I grinned. “How come?”
“Her brother died of cancer.” I flinched at my sister’s total lack of tact and looked into Jen’s beautiful eyes. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, Cam died of liver cancer when he was eighteen, and I was eleven. Neither of my parents were viable donors.” She looked at the ceiling as if looking to God. “I was conceived on the off-chance I could save him. Cam developed tumors in his liver when he was two years old. All my parents’ time and energy was put into giving him a little… longer.”
Sara blinked. “Wow, that’s kind of harsh. I know my mom loves Sean more than me, but—”
“Sara, that’s not true,” I snapped. I hoped she was being sarcastic, but wasn’t sure. Things had been a little ropey between her and Mom for a while.
Jen raised her hand. “The point is, Sara, you love him too. It was the same for me and Cam. There’s a story he used to tell me about the day I was born. I was passed off to my grandma because my parents needed to check on Cam in the ICU. Grandma thought it was inappropriate for a new mother to be away from her baby, so she took it upon herself to bring me to the ICU and put me into Cam’s arms. He told me that in that moment he felt like a superhero because he had someone to watch over, someone to love.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” I could only imagine what that felt like, to be suddenly given the chance to be someone’s hero. Part of me wondered, at what point in his short life Cam realized that Jen was born only to serve as spare parts. To me, that would be the most heartbreaking aspect. To know that not only were you destined to die, you couldn’t protect the one person you cared about most.
Jen’s voice was breaking. “When my mom tried to take the baby away, Cam cried. He was the only person who ever loved me. The day he died, I wanted to die too.”
I cupped her face in my hands, looking into her eyes. “You’re too beautiful to cry.”
Sara giggled. “You two are so cute together, like something out of a magazine.”
Jen stuck out her tongue. “Teen Vogue or Hustler?”
“Vanity Fair, at least their gorgeous supermodels keep their clothes on.”
“I can roll with that, but I’ll never be a model.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “I don’t do false modesty.”
“No, really…” Jen lifted her shirt slightly, revealing a large scar on her otherwise perfect abs. “A chunk of my eight-year-old liver bought my brother a few more years.”
I stared. “Wow. That’s quite the war wound.”
“It’s a permanent reminder of how I failed him.”
“You didn’t fail him,” Sara said. “Medical science failed him. That, and not enough people walking marathons while wearing colorful ribbons.”
Jen covered her mouth as she laughed. “You are so bad, Sara.”
I put my arm around Jen, pulling her close. “Can I touch your scar?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I slid my hand over her abs, feeling the raised tissue. She released a soft sigh. Taking courage, I moved her hand towards my drainage port, but her hand recoiled. She smiled too brightly and pulled back, pulling her shirt down.
“Anyway! I know how to hook up a gaming system to a crappy wall-mounted TV in Iowa, how to sneak a refill of ice chips from the unlocked faculty break room in Nebraska, how to smuggle in outside food in New Mexico, and—most importantly—how to do most of the nurse’s job.”
“Uh… good?”
“And pushing the little red button is a fifty-fifty shot at best, am I right? Nurse call button, my ass.”
I forced myself to laugh at Jen’s joke. It was so cool that she hated hospitals just as much as I did, but I was still stung from misreading her. She got up and headed for the door, all smiles, but seeming like she needed to get out quickly. I slumped in bed, really needing her to give me a second chance. “Hey, do you need to go already?”
Jen smiled. “Probably best if I do right now. I’ll be back. I promise.”
Chapter 2
Jen returned as promised, and for the next few weeks, I had the time of my life. Jen would accompany Sara to the hospital. We would all talk about poetry, philosophy, and why PC gaming was better than any console package the major companies could put out. They would get my homework and help me complete assignments as I slowly regained my strength.
“Why do I need four years of math to graduate?” I groaned. Geometry was a little better than algebra since it was the art of measuring shapes, as opposed to trying to find numbers that didn’t exist.
“If I’m passing geometry, then it’s not that difficult.” Jen walked me through each question, massaging my shoulders, while Sara worked on my English and history essays.
“You have to read Romeo and Juliet,” Sara said, tossing Jen a DVD of the late nineties punk version to put into her laptop.
Jen smirked. “I cannot believe you own this movie.”
“It’s the better one,” Sara pointed out. “Colorful costumes, special effects, and they still used the same script.”
I laughed. “It’s frickin’ Shakespeare—they can’t change the script!” I was out of the ICU, the infection completely cleared. I had my own room in the main pediatric unit, another hospital-survival trick Jen had mastered.
She explained that getting the right room was a similar process to getting the best table at a restaurant; if you could convince the staff you wouldn’t be much trouble, you could earn yourself a heavy dose of privacy. Jen and Sara snuck in candy and fast food while Mom sat in a corner, working on her laptop. She would occasionally look up and see the three of us laughing. Whenever our eyes met, I could see her smiling. Most importantly, unlike in the ICU, visitors could stay overnight.
Jen often texted her father in the evening: “Spending the night with Sean and his sister. Their mother will be present.”
I thought that was weirdly formal, but it wasn’t for me to say. Jen cuddled next to me in my bed (which was a strict hospital no-no), but Sara was a good human alert system. She was a light sleeper. If Sara detected movement towards our room from any approaching nurse, she’d spring out of her seat, waking both me and Jen. On more than one occasion I would awake alone, seeing Jen and Sara asleep on chairs. There was no way Jen was never caught. So, I assumed my two best friends were just that expertly skilled at talking their way out of incriminating situations. It took me a while to realize that Jen never got any reply from her father. Ever.
“I guess I should just take that to mean, ‘whatever, get home eventually,’ right?” Jen said as she rested her elbows on the bed railing.
“Maybe your texts aren’t going through?”
“You don’t know my father.”
“Ok then, let’s get to know our dads. I’ll start. My dad worked for the Red Cross.”
“Worked? Did he retire?”
“He passed away when Sean and I were three,” Sara answered. “We mostly know him through photos and stories. I wish I had more memories of him. So, what does your dad do for a living?”
“Both my parents are in real estate.”
I noticed that occasional, somber expression taking root once again.
“Always? Since the dawn of time?” Sara joked.
“No. Before that, my father was in the military.”
“What did he do in the military?”
“I don’t know—the usual soldier stuff.”
Clearly, there was more to the story. Was he disabled? I knew that wasn’t any of my business, but she was pretty open about her brother’s death. I grabbed her phone and hit call.
Jen grabbed it back and smacked me in the face.
“Ow!” I touched my sore eye. “Was that necessary?”
“Be grateful you’re already in the hospital.”
“Are you seriously telling me I can’t call your dad?”
Jen fiddled with her screen and then pulled up a picture. “This is my father, Master Sergeant Diego Miguel Quinto.”
Sara made her way over. “I want to see!”
Jen’s father was a muscular man with a tattooed chest. His dark eyes looked directly at the camera with an intimidating gaze. I blinked. “Woah. He’s… he’s not very… small.”
Sara laughed. “He’s not that scary. He’s actually kind of hot, like Benjamin Bratt—muy caliente.”
Jen scrubbed her face like she was trying to soap the image from her eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about. Oh, by the way, caliente means spicy, so unless you want to eat him—”
“What if I do?”
Jen shook her head as she put her phone away. “You two are a bunch of children.”
I had to agree with Sara; the guy was good-looking, clearly the source of Jen’s good genes. She had his dark eyes, slender nose, and high cheekbones. They even had similar lips. Part of me wanted to meet the guy just to see if he had Jen’s smile.
The days went by quickly with my two best friends by my side. I was healthier than I’d been for a long time. The doctor even authorized the removal of my neck trach. When I wasn’t trying to catch up with work from class, I enjoyed a little downtime with Jen while Sara caught a few zees on the mattress in the corner of the room. Jen and I liked watching movies on her phone. One evening, we were following a television show where contestants had to make meals out of a random section of items, like hot dogs with caviar and cotton candy. Though my cystic fibrosis usually did a number on my appetite, I watched the chefs at work, marinating and grilling. One chef even wrapped his cut of meat in puff pastry. I was becoming genuinely hungry. On another preparation table, the contestants were forced to cook bison with quinoa, saffron cookies, and guava.
“Sean, if you stop drooling on my shoulder, I’ll get you a candy bar.”
“I want to try bison someday. I think it would be like beef but better.”
“Same here, except that I hate the idea of death; I hate giant roasted animals—”
“What, like blue whales? Mammoths?”
Jen rolled her eyes. “No, I mean whole chicken, whole fish, or whole anything-that-looks-like-a-corpse. I love how dead cow is called beef, and the dead baby cow is called veal. Helps us humans forget they were ever living creatures, or that they’d ever experienced thought or emotion.”
“Fish is fish and chicken is chicken,” I pointed out. “And thanks to you, I’ll have to fall asleep contemplating the deep thoughts of farm animals.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
“I really want to try bison. How are you with steaks?”
Jen smiled. “Okay-ish. I guess I’ll take a vow to eat bison with you someday.” She ran her fingers through my hair. Jen’s face was already so close to mine. She turned and our lips touched, once then twice. I closed my eyes. I had kissed a lot of girls, but Jen was different. Her touch was pure love. “Open your eyes, Sean,” Jen whispered, caressing my face. “I want to see those beautiful eyes.”
I obliged, cupping her face as our lips met for one long sexy kiss.
Jen pulled herself onto my lap. She slipped her hands down my shoulders as we made out in my bed. Her abs tightened as I caressed her waist. My hands looked huge on her body.
Suddenly, Jen grabbed my wrist so hard I jumped. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no but…” She started to cry. “I can’t do this yet. I’m so sorry.”
Not knowing what to say, I pulled her down to lie on the bed with me, her body resting on mine as she sobbed into my shoulder.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
“About Richie Cross?” I asked.
Jen nodded, but didn’t say anything more. I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want.”
“I… I do. I need to.”
I gripped her hand, and then still for what seemed like an age while she described how the guy had made her life a living hell. By the time Jen was done talking, she was hoarse and I was struck dumb—dumb enough to manage little more than a vague wave when she hopped off the bed and said she was going to get a drink.
Sara went with her, trailing behind like she didn’t want to leave Jen alone, but didn’t want to crowd her, either. She’d woken up while Jen was crying and heard everything. The whole story made me feel sick to the gut, even sicker than the cheaper-than-shit jello in the tiny pot by my bedside. She’d taken a risk sticking up for me on the day that Richie and his crew tried to beat the last living daylights out of me, and the risk had cost her dearly. I had no idea what I’d done to earn her trust. I didn’t even know what to feel: relief that she didn’t blame me for Richie’s treatment of her after the day she’d stopped him from beating me, or guilt for my part in making the asshole turn on her the way he did. She hadn’t dumped him. That wasn’t an option; she was scared. Her association with Richie had driven away pretty much anyone at school who might rescue her from him. Nobody wanted to experience his rage after the example he’d made of me. She’d played meek-little-mouse to keep him happy until the inevitable escalation occurred; he sexually assaulted her and dumped her off on her parents’ lawn. I closed my eyes, as if that would erase the mental image of her being pitched out of a car, unconscious. It didn’t work. Not even fantasizing about hiring a hit man to beat eighteen shades of crap out of Richie made me feel any better.
“Sorry to disturb you, honey.” The soft voice made me jump. A blood pressure cuff started tightening around my bicep. I looked up to see the night-shift nurse giving me one of her pitying smiles. I quirked one back at her and pretended to try to go back to sleep, just grateful she didn’t ask why I was upset.
After a few moments, her footsteps retreated. I clenched my fists under the blankets. Following the assault, Jen’s father had tried to do what I wanted to do so badly—smack Richie in the face. He’d confronted the asshole, taking him down with a punch and then busting Richie’s car up a little, which simply led to Richie’s parents filing counter-charges for assault on their son. Telling me about her father’s response to the situation, Jen had been so venomous about his actions that I was almost a little scared at her anger towards him. I couldn’t blame her for being mad that he’d nearly undermined the investigation into Richie’s assault on her; she needed those charges to stick. If her life was ever going to be the same again, he had to be identified as the guilty party and removed from school. In the end, it was Richie who shot himself in the foot. Confident that the investigation into him had gotten nowhere, he posted the video of them having “sex.” When that video hit social media, I was still out of school, recovering from Richie’s beating, so I never got to see it. Thankfully, not too many other people did either, because he was reported by another member of his supposedly closed group and the film was taken down and saved for evidence within a couple of hours of being posted. The time stamp on the video matched up with Jen’s account of the assault, confirming his guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt, but no charges were ever pressed. Jen’s mother had accepted a six-figure hush payment from Nathan Cross while Diego was away on business.
Fast, loud feet stamped across the tile floor in my room, startling me. The girls were back from the cafeteria and it looked like they’d been fighting.
“What’s up?” I croaked. Sara looked indignant and shocked at the same time.
“I somehow made her mad.”
“Somehow?” My mouth went dry watching the two of them getting louder and louder. I swallowed to get spit back in my mouth. It didn’t work. “Guys—”
“I just asked Jen why she was so pissed at her dad when it was her mother who accepted the payoff.”
“This isn’t rocket science, Sara. He let my mom take a payout in exchange for Richie’s full exoneration. How did that help me? My folks got the money, but I got to remain the school slut. And you know what’s just as bad? Richie still has a clean record. He could go to college and do this to another girl, and get off—again.”
“You can’t do anything about that—”
“But my parents could’ve done something! Dad should’ve made Mom give the money back.”
“Well… you did say your mom was kinda forceful.”
Jen slammed her coke can on my bedside table. “That is so not the point! He wasn’t even around to stop this whole pay-off shit from happening. I was in the hospital for a whole week after what Richie did, but Dad only visited that first night when I woke up. Where was he after that? On some ‘urgent’ business trip, that’s where.”
“Well, maybe he urgently needed to tell his senior people why he needed time off work,” Sara pressed. “Some employers are jerks. You have to shove police reports in their faces to make them understand there’s a crisis.”
“He’s in real estate, he works for himself!”
“What about his clients? He has to keep the business going, right?”
“Oh, just… don’t!” Jen paced the room, her fists clenched. For a horrible second, it looked like she was going to storm out and not come back. As much as I loved Sara, sometimes she didn’t know when to quit playing Devil’s advocate.
I cleared my throat and fixed Sara with the calmest gaze I could manage. “It’s her situation, Sis. She knows more about it than we do.”
Sara shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… I know what it’s like to not be able to help someone as much as I want to, and I figured he probably felt the same way when trying to deal with wealthy shitbags like the Cross family.”
Jen caught her anxious glance, and released a long breath. She then made one of those exaggerated “om” gestures with her hands.
“I’m really sorry,” Sara insisted. “I was just trying to help you see that maybe your dad didn’t want to neglect you.”
“All right,” Jen finally said. “I wasn’t trying to rip you a new one, but I need to ask you a favor. Just… remember that I’ve seen every side of my father. You’ve never even met him.”
“Sure.” Sara looked contrite. “I get it.” As the girls sat down together, sharing cautious smiles, I swear my blood pressure came down about twenty points.
I grinned at Jen. “It’s not Sara’s fault she likes Diego so much. She’s depraved and lusts for anyone who looks like Benjamin Bratt.”
Sarah slugged me in the arm.
Jen finally cracked a smile. “If anything, he looks like Al Pacino in Scarface—if Scarface were a disabled vet who worked out nearly every day.”
“Your father is disabled?” I asked. He certainly didn’t appear disabled. But then again neither did I. Especially on my good days.
“A war injury,” she explained. “He gets really bad muscle spasms in his back.”
Sara looked to Jen. “But he’s able to work out? In that picture he looks ripped.”
“The more he maintains his strength, the less his body deteriorates.”
I held Jen in my arms. “Jen, I love you. I still want to come to your house and meet him for myself.”
Jen shook her head. “It’s not my dad I’m worried about. He knows how to turn on the charm when he has to. It’s my mom. She’s… she hates anything with a dick.”
“As the only person in this room with a dick, I’m insisting you explain that statement.”
“She hates my dad, that much is certain. And although she hated Richie, she was more than happy to sit back and watch things go wrong, just so she could call me a disappointment. And then there’s your disability.”
“Your mother hates disabled people?” I asked.
“After my brother died, she just lost it. She’s in mourning every moment of the day. I can just see her taking one look at you and feeling threatened by your looks, your talent—all despite your illness. She’s going to try to knock you down just to prove that she can, and I don’t want to witness that.”
“I’ve been knocked down plenty of times.” Jen looked up at me. “If you guys want to push into my private life—”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Not taking ‘no’ for an answer is pushing, Sean.” Jen huffed a big breath and looked back at me. “If you want me to let you in, then you let me in.”
I frowned. “I have been.”
“What did Lisa Anders do to you?” I felt a shiver down my spine. “You know what she did to me, the whole school does.”
“Yours is the only side of the story I haven’t heard.”

Before blacking out, the last thing you remember was drinking a martini at a casino. Now you wake up and see the casino abandoned with a dead lady bleeding from a wound beside you.
In her purse, you search for a phone to call the police, but only find cherry lipstick and two die. In her hands, you find two playing cards: A♤ and 2♡.
You run to the casino exit, but it is locked and has a sign that reads "Madame Louiselle's luck was grim. Her odds of winning all three bets were slim. The bonanza to your escape is the same odds. Hurry, or else I kill you by the same whim."
Reluctantly, you walk through the labyrinth of a casino back to the dead lady.
You notice that she's beside a poker table and an unfinished game of Texas-hold em. From a 52 card deck, the four community cards are flipped over with the final card, "the river", left unrevealed. Specifically, the five cards are 5♡-K♡-Q♡-4♧-?
On the green felt and under a pistol, a Q♤ and a Q◇ are face-up as well, and it was apparently the hand to beat.
Next, you walk a distance to find a standing mirror with a cherry red smear. The smear is actually writing; it says "orphelins ML". In the reflection of the same mirror, you see a french roullete wheel.
Another unusual find is a napkin with a cherry smudge. It's beside a craps table with 5,000 dollars worth of chips stacked on Yo-leven (a single chance bet for 15 to 1 payout upon rolling "eleven").
Finally, you find three peculiar slot machines labeled A through C. A larger fourth slot machine is labeled Z, and on it is the cryptic expression . x̄x̄x̄%.
The slot machines are beeping and playing music in a cacophony of sound and sirens.
Bonanza to my escape!
You pull the lever on all four of them consecutively, going in a circle. You do this two more times while tabulating the 3 digit numbers each machine's wheels land on.

,	1	2	3
A	003	928	201
B	100	391	019
C	743	382	949
Z	700	321	909

You haven't won a cent. You don't even know what a "win" looks like, as the wheels display only numbers and not the usual cherries, bars, and various other goodies.
You decide to just focus your attention on the largest machine Z until you hit. But almost like it read your mind, every number spun thereafter is the exact same as the last -- 909.
How do you escape this place?
Edit: Thanks to u/Murmix, u/fLukeozade, u/CaptainSpaceCat, u/letmetakeaguess, and others, I have realized a slight error and made a fix.

My coworker who taught me how to play has always loved the C&E bet. I started to love it too, but I got to thinking of a different strategy.
My understanding is the C&E bet pays 3:1 for craps and 7:1 on the Yo. So for a typical $5 C&E I could either get $15 for 2,3,12 or $35 on the Yo.
If a casino accepts hot bets couldn't you construct this same bet with better payouts by doing a $1 hot bet on 2,3,12 (each) and a $2 hot bet on the Yo?
I believe the payouts for 2 and 12 are 30:1 and 3 and 11 are 15:1. So in this scenario you could win $30 on a 2,12, or 11 or win $15 on the 3. This seems like a much better payout. Do casinos have rules against constructing the bets this way?

Long time craps lover, just found this sub. If there is a standard trip report format I apologize.
I was in Vegas 12/25 -12/28. Half of the family was at Caesar's and half were at Paris (vets get complimentary platinum which is cool). Since the whole gang was in town I limited almost all of my sessions to about 2 hours.
Didn't see anything at Caesar's cheaper than $15. One table was reserved the entire trip (not sure how that works, I forgot to ask, I only ever saw a few people on the reserved table and it was otherwise empty).
On Friday the tables at Caesar's were all $25 and $50. Some tables have ATS and some have Repeaters. Field pays triple on 12. The dealers at Caesars were really awesome (great stories from back in the day when darksiders used to get into fights with pass line folks). The players all seemed to know what was going on. Chinese guys betting black chips were my lucky charms.
The Linq had $10 and $15 tables all weekend. Mix of new players buying in with a handful of chips and a few folks who had a lot of experience. Platinum player's cards at the Linq got more attention than at Caesars. Dealers there are younger and a lot of fun. You can see TVs playing sports from the tables. Field pays double on 12. All tables were ATS vs repeaters.
I never bought in for more than $300 at a time (not ideal on $15 tables, I know). Bankroll was $1k. I love craps, but usually stick to pass line/odds and 6/8. I love betting my change for the dealers. I'll play/piggyback hard 6/8 if I'm up - not optimal, but it's fun and that's what I'm there for.
Sessions 1 & 2 @ Ceasar's $15 table: change $200, color up $400 both sessions. The family had cirque tickets so I had to bounce.
Session 3 @ Linq: change $300, color up $500. I was stick right and got on a great roll. Same basic bets more or less.
Session 4 @ Linq (last day): change $300, color up $800. This one was wild. Bought 4/10 a lot (I like that bet for some reason). Placed 6/8 for $30 for the clean payouts (I really need to study the payouts more as my understanding is pretty bad given that I've played a handful of times over the last few years). Hit a hard 6 for $315 lol. Hit the All Small with $5 on it and the dealers along for a buck. Put a random dollar $5 on a dealer yo and it hit. It was a blast. Wish the table had repeaters, saw a guy throw six 3s. I threw three 12s in a row. Another dude threw so many 9s I thought I was in a simulation. Put $75 across ATS which was my cut off point win or lose (didn't win, colored up, gave whatever red and white chips I had to the boys).
Not the most amazing story ever, just basic stuff. No other game in the casino feels like craps (except Casino War lol). Poker and blackjack are too much work. Roulette feels like one big prop bet. Slots are a joke. What an amazing game. I wish I could shoot real dice in California.

It was a beautiful day in North Dakota. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I had just puked all over myself. Again.
You’d think that after fifteen years of living with chronic illness, I’d be used to my body. But no, cystic fibrosis has a mind of its own. The worst thing? As I lay in bed, my stupid bag IV bag was blocking the view of my gymnastics medals and trophies. Not that I stood any shot of making the team this year. Freshman year I was considered a protégée; this year I’m the freak who fell asleep in the locker room. That’s CF— one minute I feel superhuman (or at least human), but the next minute I feel so tired I can barely run through my routines. Then we have today.
I’m fairly certain I’m not going to survive long enough to compete for a spot on the competition roster. My head pounded as the sunlight hit my eyes. “Sara, I need you!”
Like magic, Sara was already pulling the blankets off my body. “I’m here Sean, I’m here,” she said as she loaded my blankets into a laundry bag. “I think we need to get you to the hospital.”
“No, please. Just give me a few more days on the IV.”
“Sean, it’s been over a week. Your fever has only gotten worse.”
I began to cry, sobbing into my pillow. All I ever wanted was to feel normal in my own skin. Because being normal comes with happiness, right? I wanted to fall in love, I wanted to get married, maybe even have a family. I kicked my IV just enough to see my trophies: evidence of the alternate reality version of myself. There was a photo of me in freshman year, on the rings. Even with my long hair whipping all over my face, I nailed my gymnastics routine like a rock star. I was the youngest person to ever win an individual gold at the state level. I wiped tears from my eyes as Sara handed me a clean shirt. Who am I kidding? I’m going to die alone in a hospital bed.
“Don’t cry.” Sara kissed my cheek. “You know, with how light your eyes are, you look like an ice-zombie.”
“What?” I instantly perked up. Sara always knew how to make me smile.
“Once we get to the hospital, I want to braid your fairy-princess hair.”
I laughed. For the record, I do not have fairy-princess hair. I have surfer hair, long blonde waves that cascade down my back. Hair destined for a dive into the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes when I’m in the shower I’ll stand under the flow, letting the water wash over my face. In my mind I’m in California, emerging from beneath the waves. I look nothing like Sara, my remarkable sister. I like to call her my twin since we’re the same age—not that we have anything in common, beyond sharing a room. I’m six-foot tall, which doesn’t help much when your sport of choice is gymnastics. I have my meds to thank for that; for the first fourteen years of my life I was prescribed human growth hormones to give my sick body a fighting chance. While my adorable, amazing sister was a brilliant science nerd, destined to change the world.
I was snapped back to reality by a coughing fit. I could feel the mucus trying to come out, but my lungs were seizing up. I reached for my inhaler. The medicine helped relax my lungs enough to take in air, but now the room was spinning. “Sara, I don’t think I can make it out of bed.”
Sara was already gone. She quickly returned with our mother, who lifted me out of bed and helped me to the door. “Sara, disconnect his IV, make note of how much is left in the bag, and then I need you to grab my keys and start the car.”
I kind of passed out just as we got going, but at least I was lying with my head in Sara’s lap. That was about as comfortable as I was going to get. She was cradling my head in her arms. Although small, my sister was always my hero. She could do it all: administer IVs; monitor my blood sugar; and even perform chest physiotherapy to loosen the mucus in my lungs. Mom was brave, too. She always had been, from the day she’d chosen to adopt an abandoned baby with CF. Then having to raise us on her own when Dad died on a disaster relief trip to the Philippines.
I could feel Sara stroking my face. I looked up to see tears in her eyes. With fifteen years of caring for me, my illness affected her as much as it affected me. I tried to cheer her up. “So, are you going to braid my fairy-princess hair?”
She gave me a weak grin. “Let’s hold off on that until you get a bed.”
Less than an hour later, I was admitted to the ICU. I couldn’t stop coughing. The port on my side was reopened in an attempt to drain my lungs manually. I had to be put on oxygen and blood thinners to relieve the pressure in my chest. I’m told that the fever spiked into brain damage territory. My antibiotic levels were adjusted: different amounts, different combinations. The nurse brought in a blanket that appeared to be made of hundreds of cold packs fused together. On the third night in the ICU, the dreaded words “breathing tube” were mentioned. I hated breathing tubes. They were unbearably painful and made it impossible to speak.
I grabbed Mom’s hand. “Please, I can fight this. You know I can. I just need you to believe in me.” I wanted so badly to get out of bed. I wanted to get back to training, to feel the burn of strength in my muscles. To feel my body pushing itself towards greatness, not just to survive. Hell, freshman year I trained and competed with a fractured wrist and three bruised ribs after getting the living crap kicked out of me. That was how bad-ass I could be when CF wasn’t hijacking my body.
Mom turned to the doctor. “What are the other options?”
The tall, elderly man looked confused. “I strongly recommend a breathing tube, just until we can get the fever stabilized.” That was the easy answer for him; put the kid on a breathing tube and come back to him later. And I sure as fuck did not want to be tethered to a machine.
The way I figured it, the fewer machines I was reliant on, the faster I was going to recover. I wanted to get back to training or I wanted to die. I had little use for the gray area in between.
Mom shook her head vigorously. “No. Put him under sedation. It’ll give his body a chance to rest.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Foster—”
“You listen to me—that boy is more than numbers on a chart.”
“I know this is difficult—”
“He’s my son!” She squeezed my hand. Sara was already holding my other hand. “Sean’s on full oxygen and he’s still breathing on his own. I’m choosing to have faith in him.”
The doctor quietly left the room.
Mother kissed my forehead. “I love you. And I’ll always believe in you.”
The next day, the fever went down to a better, yet still unsafe level. I suffered a seizure due to lack of oxygen to my brain, prompting the doc’s insistence on a breathing tube. That, or a tracheotomy. I was strong, but would not survive the ordeal unscarred. Mother looked to Sara.
“Tracheotomy,” Sara quickly answered. The doctor would be cutting a hole in my throat, inserting a tube that would attach to a ventilator and function as an alternative means of supplying oxygen to my weakened lungs. The process would be much more invasive and painful, but at least I would still be able to speak.
By my eighth day in the hospital, I was too weak to remain conscious for more than few hours a day. My lungs were failing and if the infection spread to my heart, I could very well be dead in a few months. I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about the ache in my throat or the pounding in my head. I seemed a little dead from the neck down.
A soft snore made me look to Sara. She was slumped in the seat by my bed with a book resting on her lap. I couldn’t make out the title, but it looked science-y and intimidating. She’d been with me all week, having been given permission by her school to study at the hospital. It seemed to take minutes of effort to coordinate my arm muscles, but I managed to reach over and nudge her awake. “Go to school tomorrow, please.”
“Why?” she whispered. “I want stay with you. I want to be by your side when you get out of this bed. That’s the way it’s always been!”
“Go to school,” I repeated. I knew what she meant. Whenever I was hospitalized, she was always by my side. “It’s not worth it for you to stay.” I didn’t dare look in her direction.
She gripped my hand. “I have nothing to look forward to at school. You’re all I have.”
I sighed. Sadly, she was probably correct. Her vigilance in caring for me didn’t exactly do much for her social life. “Maybe a miracle will be waiting,” I said as I yanked my hand away, a little ruder then I should have.
“Or maybe you’ll die in your sleep.” Sara took a deep breath, shook her head, and left the room.
The next day, Sara didn’t show up at nine as usual, which was good— it meant she’d probably gone to school. Playing hooky was like sacrilege to her. Some part of me saw this as God throwing me a life line. A little after five she scampered in, taking a seat on the plastic chair by my bed. “Sean, are you awake?”
“Is that my miracle?” I asked motioning my head to the doorway, which framed a tall, supermodel-like silhouette.
Sarah turned my room lights on for me. I squinted, but then couldn’t stop staring as the girl walked towards the bed. The stunningly beautiful Latina wore her hair in a pixie cut with bangs sweeping over her eyes. She lovingly caressed my hand. “Hello, Jenny-Q.” Even with her new look, I would recognize her beauty anywhere. Up close I could see her caramel skin, high cheekbones, pouty lips and large brown eyes that sparkled with hints of gold.
“Hey, Sean,” she whispered. “Sorry, I’m so nervous. I didn’t even know if you’d remember me. I have no idea what to say. I know if my dad was here, he’d try to get us to pray, or some shit like that.”
“Remember you? You saved my life. I don’t know what I was thinking, that day. I should’ve run.”
“No shit,” Sara muttered. She still hadn’t really forgiven me for talking back to Richie Cross like I was on some kind of suicide mission.
“I knew what to expect, after my run-in with Lisa,” I admitted, not meeting Sara’s eyes. “Richie wasn’t about to let me get away with screwing around with his girl. It had to be me coming on to her, because Lisa would never cheat on him, no.”
“Why I thought I’d get on better with that douchebag than Lisa had, I’ll never know.” Jen rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe he called you an ass-cancer.”
“Yeah, well. I shouldn’t have told him I had cancer. It just seemed easier than explaining Cystic Fibrosis to a dumbfuck.”
Sarah folded her arms. “I get that, but you didn’t do yourself any favors with your comeback.”
She glared at Jen, who was giggling. I’d told Richie that I’d rather be an ass-cancer than the only black guy at White Creek with a micro-penis, and then came the beat-down. I remembered the ‘fight’ clear as day. I’d lifted my chin, daring Richie and his gang of dickwads to attack. In the moment, I honestly felt like I could take whatever they had to give, but the blows came too fast and too hard. I could hear people laughing, even cheering. My efforts to shield my face were proving pointless as my attackers dragged my body away from the lockers and started stomping my head. It was when I’d started to succumb to the pain that I heard screams and voices coming to my defense. One by one, the attackers stepped off, but before I could start to feel the relief, Richie grabbed me by the hair and blew cigarette smoke directly into my blood-covered face. It was Jenny-Q who’d rummaged in my bag and helped me with my inhaler, preventing a choking spiral that would’ve ended me in minutes. But it got her slapped hard. Through eyes which were rapidly swelling shut, I saw Richie hauling her down the hallway by her arm, railing at her about her lack of respect.
“Yo! Earth to Sean!” Sara said, shaking my arm. “Were you sleeping with your eyes open?”
“Sorry.” I smiled at Jenny, still feeling guilty that I couldn’t do a damn thing about what Richie did to her after she’d defended me. “I never forgot your courage, Jenny-Q. Hell, I didn’t even get to thank you. Where did you go?”
She shrugged. “I took a little ‘hiatus’ from school. Anyway, like I told Sara, Jenny-Q was a slut with super-short shorts and over-processed ringlets. Now I’m just Jen.”
“I like the pixie cut,” I told her. “New era, new image, right?”
“Yeah, that, and also I used so much hair product that I gave myself a scalp infection.” Covering her embarrassment, she grabbed the bed controls and took it upon herself to move my body to an upright position. Her fingers brushed a lock of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I just want to see those beautiful eyes.”
I held her gaze for a long moment, trying to figure out her body language. It seemed like she was being more than gentle—I felt a little like she was hitting on me.
Sara glanced back from the muted TV. She’d been surfing the channels. “Jen knows all the cool hospital tricks, like how to get nonfamily into the ICU.”
I grinned. “How come?”
“Her brother died of cancer.” I flinched at my sister’s total lack of tact and looked into Jen’s beautiful eyes. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, Cam died of liver cancer when he was eighteen, and I was eleven. Neither of my parents were viable donors.” She looked at the ceiling as if looking to God. “I was conceived on the off-chance I could save him. Cam developed tumors in his liver when he was two years old. All my parents’ time and energy was put into giving him a little… longer.”
Sara blinked. “Wow, that’s kind of harsh. I know my mom loves Sean more than me, but—”
“Sara, that’s not true,” I snapped. I hoped she was being sarcastic, but wasn’t sure. Things had been a little ropey between her and Mom for a while.
Jen raised her hand. “The point is, Sara, you love him too. It was the same for me and Cam. There’s a story he used to tell me about the day I was born. I was passed off to my grandma because my parents needed to check on Cam in the ICU. Grandma thought it was inappropriate for a new mother to be away from her baby, so she took it upon herself to bring me to the ICU and put me into Cam’s arms. He told me that in that moment he felt like a superhero because he had someone to watch over, someone to love.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” I could only imagine what that felt like, to be suddenly given the chance to be someone’s hero. Part of me wondered, at what point in his short life Cam realized that Jen was born only to serve as spare parts. To me, that would be the most heartbreaking aspect. To know that not only were you destined to die, you couldn’t protect the one person you cared about most.
Jen’s voice was breaking. “When my mom tried to take the baby away, Cam cried. He was the only person who ever loved me. The day he died, I wanted to die too.”
I cupped her face in my hands, looking into her eyes. “You’re too beautiful to cry.”
Sara giggled. “You two are so cute together, like something out of a magazine.”
Jen stuck out her tongue. “Teen Vogue or Hustler?”
“Vanity Fair, at least their gorgeous supermodels keep their clothes on.”
“I can roll with that, but I’ll never be a model.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “I don’t do false modesty.”
“No, really…” Jen lifted her shirt slightly, revealing a large scar on her otherwise perfect abs. “A chunk of my eight-year-old liver bought my brother a few more years.”
I stared. “Wow. That’s quite the war wound.”
“It’s a permanent reminder of how I failed him.”
“You didn’t fail him,” Sara said. “Medical science failed him. That, and not enough people walking marathons while wearing colorful ribbons.”
Jen covered her mouth as she laughed. “You are so bad, Sara.”
I put my arm around Jen, pulling her close. “Can I touch your scar?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I slid my hand over her abs, feeling the raised tissue. She released a soft sigh. Taking courage, I moved her hand towards my drainage port, but her hand recoiled. She smiled too brightly and pulled back, pulling her shirt down.
“Anyway! I know how to hook up a gaming system to a crappy wall-mounted TV in Iowa, how to sneak a refill of ice chips from the unlocked faculty break room in Nebraska, how to smuggle in outside food in New Mexico, and—most importantly—how to do most of the nurse’s job.”
“Uh… good?”
“And pushing the little red button is a fifty-fifty shot at best, am I right? Nurse call button, my ass.”
I forced myself to laugh at Jen’s joke. It was so cool that she hated hospitals just as much as I did, but I was still stung from misreading her. She got up and headed for the door, all smiles, but seeming like she needed to get out quickly. I slumped in bed, really needing her to give me a second chance. “Hey, do you need to go already?”
Jen smiled. “Probably best if I do right now. I’ll be back. I promise.”
Chapter 2
Jen returned as promised, and for the next few weeks, I had the time of my life. Jen would accompany Sara to the hospital. We would all talk about poetry, philosophy, and why PC gaming was better than any console package the major companies could put out. They would get my homework and help me complete assignments as I slowly regained my strength.
“Why do I need four years of math to graduate?” I groaned. Geometry was a little better than algebra since it was the art of measuring shapes, as opposed to trying to find numbers that didn’t exist.
“If I’m passing geometry, then it’s not that difficult.” Jen walked me through each question, massaging my shoulders, while Sara worked on my English and history essays.
“You have to read Romeo and Juliet,” Sara said, tossing Jen a DVD of the late nineties punk version to put into her laptop.
Jen smirked. “I cannot believe you own this movie.”
“It’s the better one,” Sara pointed out. “Colorful costumes, special effects, and they still used the same script.”
I laughed. “It’s frickin’ Shakespeare—they can’t change the script!” I was out of the ICU, the infection completely cleared. I had my own room in the main pediatric unit, another hospital-survival trick Jen had mastered.
She explained that getting the right room was a similar process to getting the best table at a restaurant; if you could convince the staff you wouldn’t be much trouble, you could earn yourself a heavy dose of privacy. Jen and Sara snuck in candy and fast food while Mom sat in a corner, working on her laptop. She would occasionally look up and see the three of us laughing. Whenever our eyes met, I could see her smiling. Most importantly, unlike in the ICU, visitors could stay overnight.
Jen often texted her father in the evening: “Spending the night with Sean and his sister. Their mother will be present.”
I thought that was weirdly formal, but it wasn’t for me to say. Jen cuddled next to me in my bed (which was a strict hospital no-no), but Sara was a good human alert system. She was a light sleeper. If Sara detected movement towards our room from any approaching nurse, she’d spring out of her seat, waking both me and Jen. On more than one occasion I would awake alone, seeing Jen and Sara asleep on chairs. There was no way Jen was never caught. So, I assumed my two best friends were just that expertly skilled at talking their way out of incriminating situations. It took me a while to realize that Jen never got any reply from her father. Ever.
“I guess I should just take that to mean, ‘whatever, get home eventually,’ right?” Jen said as she rested her elbows on the bed railing.
“Maybe your texts aren’t going through?”
“You don’t know my father.”
“Ok then, let’s get to know our dads. I’ll start. My dad worked for the Red Cross.”
“Worked? Did he retire?”
“He passed away when Sean and I were three,” Sara answered. “We mostly know him through photos and stories. I wish I had more memories of him. So, what does your dad do for a living?”
“Both my parents are in real estate.”
I noticed that occasional, somber expression taking root once again.
“Always? Since the dawn of time?” Sara joked.
“No. Before that, my father was in the military.”
“What did he do in the military?”
“I don’t know—the usual soldier stuff.”
Clearly, there was more to the story. Was he disabled? I knew that wasn’t any of my business, but she was pretty open about her brother’s death. I grabbed her phone and hit call.
Jen grabbed it back and smacked me in the face.
“Ow!” I touched my sore eye. “Was that necessary?”
“Be grateful you’re already in the hospital.”
“Are you seriously telling me I can’t call your dad?”
Jen fiddled with her screen and then pulled up a picture. “This is my father, Master Sergeant Diego Miguel Quinto.”
Sara made her way over. “I want to see!”
Jen’s father was a muscular man with a tattooed chest. His dark eyes looked directly at the camera with an intimidating gaze. I blinked. “Woah. He’s… he’s not very… small.”
Sara laughed. “He’s not that scary. He’s actually kind of hot, like Benjamin Bratt—muy caliente.”
Jen scrubbed her face like she was trying to soap the image from her eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about. Oh, by the way, caliente means spicy, so unless you want to eat him—”
“What if I do?”
Jen shook her head as she put her phone away. “You two are a bunch of children.”
I had to agree with Sara; the guy was good-looking, clearly the source of Jen’s good genes. She had his dark eyes, slender nose, and high cheekbones. They even had similar lips. Part of me wanted to meet the guy just to see if he had Jen’s smile.
The days went by quickly with my two best friends by my side. I was healthier than I’d been for a long time. The doctor even authorized the removal of my neck trach. When I wasn’t trying to catch up with work from class, I enjoyed a little downtime with Jen while Sara caught a few zees on the mattress in the corner of the room. Jen and I liked watching movies on her phone. One evening, we were following a television show where contestants had to make meals out of a random section of items, like hot dogs with caviar and cotton candy. Though my cystic fibrosis usually did a number on my appetite, I watched the chefs at work, marinating and grilling. One chef even wrapped his cut of meat in puff pastry. I was becoming genuinely hungry. On another preparation table, the contestants were forced to cook bison with quinoa, saffron cookies, and guava.
“Sean, if you stop drooling on my shoulder, I’ll get you a candy bar.”
“I want to try bison someday. I think it would be like beef but better.”
“Same here, except that I hate the idea of death; I hate giant roasted animals—”
“What, like blue whales? Mammoths?”
Jen rolled her eyes. “No, I mean whole chicken, whole fish, or whole anything-that-looks-like-a-corpse. I love how dead cow is called beef, and the dead baby cow is called veal. Helps us humans forget they were ever living creatures, or that they’d ever experienced thought or emotion.”
“Fish is fish and chicken is chicken,” I pointed out. “And thanks to you, I’ll have to fall asleep contemplating the deep thoughts of farm animals.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
“I really want to try bison. How are you with steaks?”
Jen smiled. “Okay-ish. I guess I’ll take a vow to eat bison with you someday.” She ran her fingers through my hair. Jen’s face was already so close to mine. She turned and our lips touched, once then twice. I closed my eyes. I had kissed a lot of girls, but Jen was different. Her touch was pure love. “Open your eyes, Sean,” Jen whispered, caressing my face. “I want to see those beautiful eyes.”
I obliged, cupping her face as our lips met for one long sexy kiss.
Jen pulled herself onto my lap. She slipped her hands down my shoulders as we made out in my bed. Her abs tightened as I caressed her waist. My hands looked huge on her body.
Suddenly, Jen grabbed my wrist so hard I jumped. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no but…” She started to cry. “I can’t do this yet. I’m so sorry.”
Not knowing what to say, I pulled her down to lie on the bed with me, her body resting on mine as she sobbed into my shoulder.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
“About Richie Cross?” I asked.
Jen nodded, but didn’t say anything more. I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want.”
“I… I do. I need to.”
I gripped her hand, and then still for what seemed like an age while she described how the guy had made her life a living hell. By the time Jen was done talking, she was hoarse and I was struck dumb—dumb enough to manage little more than a vague wave when she hopped off the bed and said she was going to get a drink.
Sara went with her, trailing behind like she didn’t want to leave Jen alone, but didn’t want to crowd her, either. She’d woken up while Jen was crying and heard everything. The whole story made me feel sick to the gut, even sicker than the cheaper-than-shit jello in the tiny pot by my bedside. She’d taken a risk sticking up for me on the day that Richie and his crew tried to beat the last living daylights out of me, and the risk had cost her dearly. I had no idea what I’d done to earn her trust. I didn’t even know what to feel: relief that she didn’t blame me for Richie’s treatment of her after the day she’d stopped him from beating me, or guilt for my part in making the asshole turn on her the way he did. She hadn’t dumped him. That wasn’t an option; she was scared. Her association with Richie had driven away pretty much anyone at school who might rescue her from him. Nobody wanted to experience his rage after the example he’d made of me. She’d played meek-little-mouse to keep him happy until the inevitable escalation occurred; he sexually assaulted her and dumped her off on her parents’ lawn. I closed my eyes, as if that would erase the mental image of her being pitched out of a car, unconscious. It didn’t work. Not even fantasizing about hiring a hit man to beat eighteen shades of crap out of Richie made me feel any better.
“Sorry to disturb you, honey.” The soft voice made me jump. A blood pressure cuff started tightening around my bicep. I looked up to see the night-shift nurse giving me one of her pitying smiles. I quirked one back at her and pretended to try to go back to sleep, just grateful she didn’t ask why I was upset.
After a few moments, her footsteps retreated. I clenched my fists under the blankets. Following the assault, Jen’s father had tried to do what I wanted to do so badly—smack Richie in the face. He’d confronted the asshole, taking him down with a punch and then busting Richie’s car up a little, which simply led to Richie’s parents filing counter-charges for assault on their son. Telling me about her father’s response to the situation, Jen had been so venomous about his actions that I was almost a little scared at her anger towards him. I couldn’t blame her for being mad that he’d nearly undermined the investigation into Richie’s assault on her; she needed those charges to stick. If her life was ever going to be the same again, he had to be identified as the guilty party and removed from school. In the end, it was Richie who shot himself in the foot. Confident that the investigation into him had gotten nowhere, he posted the video of them having “sex.” When that video hit social media, I was still out of school, recovering from Richie’s beating, so I never got to see it. Thankfully, not too many other people did either, because he was reported by another member of his supposedly closed group and the film was taken down and saved for evidence within a couple of hours of being posted. The time stamp on the video matched up with Jen’s account of the assault, confirming his guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt, but no charges were ever pressed. Jen’s mother had accepted a six-figure hush payment from Nathan Cross while Diego was away on business.
Fast, loud feet stamped across the tile floor in my room, startling me. The girls were back from the cafeteria and it looked like they’d been fighting.
“What’s up?” I croaked. Sara looked indignant and shocked at the same time.
“I somehow made her mad.”
“Somehow?” My mouth went dry watching the two of them getting louder and louder. I swallowed to get spit back in my mouth. It didn’t work. “Guys—”
“I just asked Jen why she was so pissed at her dad when it was her mother who accepted the payoff.”
“This isn’t rocket science, Sara. He let my mom take a payout in exchange for Richie’s full exoneration. How did that help me? My folks got the money, but I got to remain the school slut. And you know what’s just as bad? Richie still has a clean record. He could go to college and do this to another girl, and get off—again.”
“You can’t do anything about that—”
“But my parents could’ve done something! Dad should’ve made Mom give the money back.”
“Well… you did say your mom was kinda forceful.”
Jen slammed her coke can on my bedside table. “That is so not the point! He wasn’t even around to stop this whole pay-off shit from happening. I was in the hospital for a whole week after what Richie did, but Dad only visited that first night when I woke up. Where was he after that? On some ‘urgent’ business trip, that’s where.”
“Well, maybe he urgently needed to tell his senior people why he needed time off work,” Sara pressed. “Some employers are jerks. You have to shove police reports in their faces to make them understand there’s a crisis.”
“He’s in real estate, he works for himself!”
“What about his clients? He has to keep the business going, right?”
“Oh, just… don’t!” Jen paced the room, her fists clenched. For a horrible second, it looked like she was going to storm out and not come back. As much as I loved Sara, sometimes she didn’t know when to quit playing Devil’s advocate.
I cleared my throat and fixed Sara with the calmest gaze I could manage. “It’s her situation, Sis. She knows more about it than we do.”
Sara shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… I know what it’s like to not be able to help someone as much as I want to, and I figured he probably felt the same way when trying to deal with wealthy shitbags like the Cross family.”
Jen caught her anxious glance, and released a long breath. She then made one of those exaggerated “om” gestures with her hands.
“I’m really sorry,” Sara insisted. “I was just trying to help you see that maybe your dad didn’t want to neglect you.”
“All right,” Jen finally said. “I wasn’t trying to rip you a new one, but I need to ask you a favor. Just… remember that I’ve seen every side of my father. You’ve never even met him.”
“Sure.” Sara looked contrite. “I get it.” As the girls sat down together, sharing cautious smiles, I swear my blood pressure came down about twenty points.
I grinned at Jen. “It’s not Sara’s fault she likes Diego so much. She’s depraved and lusts for anyone who looks like Benjamin Bratt.”
Sarah slugged me in the arm.
Jen finally cracked a smile. “If anything, he looks like Al Pacino in Scarface—if Scarface were a disabled vet who worked out nearly every day.”
“Your father is disabled?” I asked. He certainly didn’t appear disabled. But then again neither did I. Especially on my good days.
“A war injury,” she explained. “He gets really bad muscle spasms in his back.”
Sara looked to Jen. “But he’s able to work out? In that picture he looks ripped.”
“The more he maintains his strength, the less his body deteriorates.”
I held Jen in my arms. “Jen, I love you. I still want to come to your house and meet him for myself.”
Jen shook her head. “It’s not my dad I’m worried about. He knows how to turn on the charm when he has to. It’s my mom. She’s… she hates anything with a dick.”
“As the only person in this room with a dick, I’m insisting you explain that statement.”
“She hates my dad, that much is certain. And although she hated Richie, she was more than happy to sit back and watch things go wrong, just so she could call me a disappointment. And then there’s your disability.”
“Your mother hates disabled people?” I asked.
“After my brother died, she just lost it. She’s in mourning every moment of the day. I can just see her taking one look at you and feeling threatened by your looks, your talent—all despite your illness. She’s going to try to knock you down just to prove that she can, and I don’t want to witness that.”
“I’ve been knocked down plenty of times.” Jen looked up at me. “If you guys want to push into my private life—”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Not taking ‘no’ for an answer is pushing, Sean.” Jen huffed a big breath and looked back at me. “If you want me to let you in, then you let me in.”
I frowned. “I have been.”
“What did Lisa Anders do to you?” I felt a shiver down my spine. “You know what she did to me, the whole school does.”
“Yours is the only side of the story I haven’t heard.”
​
part 2:
https://www.reddit.com/Wholesomenosleep/comments/d0pu3p/dakota_son_part_2/

I took a drive up to a local casino Friday and bought in for $2500, was playing my usual bets which are $90 each 6 and 8, $50 each 5 and 9, and $10 line bet with max odds when the dice are on me. I also throw $5 on the "hit them all" bet, which pays 175 to 1 when it hits. I've rolled them all several times before, but I didn't used to bet on it so I missed out on the wins.
So this time I'm playing and the table is rough. I start at around 8pm and get all the way down to $500 from my original $2500 by around 11pm. I bet all of my money on the next roll and a few people have some decent rolls, so I'm back up to $1200 or so. I get the dice just past midnight, so it's a new day, and make my all bet and start throwing. I hit the small side quickly (2, 3, 4, 5 and 6) and am just missing the 10 to hit them all. The table is only me and one other guy at this point as it had been so cold everyone else lost, and I've already thrown 5 or 6 points along with a bunch of 6s and 8s, so I'm already back over my starting $2500. I throw a $5 hard 10 for the dealers and tell them that the $5 all bet I made is going to be $3 for me and $2 for them (so $525 payout for me and $350 for them). I hit the hard 10 on the next roll and the dealers go nuts! I 7 out a few rolls later and am sitting on around $3400 at this point.
The other guy has an okay roll, it gets back to me and I point, 7. Oh well, can't stay hot forever right? We each have another okay roll and I'm still around $3200 when it gets back to me again. This other guy who had been playing before and is often at that casino comes back and is whining that he missed the all, since he always bets at least $15 on it so he'd have hit for over $2500.
So I have the dice again and I do my $5 all, the guy complaining bets $25 on the all, small and tall, and this time I roll everything except for the 10 really quickly, no points hit. I throw out a hard 10 for the dealers again and say same deal, $3 for me $2 for you. The dealers are hyped now and the guy who missed the first time I rolled it is going crazy. He already got paid $850 for me hitting the small, and if the all hits he gets another $850 for the tall plus $4400 for the all! I roll the point of 6 and am coming out, everyone is holding their breath and I roll another 6, then another 6 to make the point again, then another 6 on the come out, then another 6 to make the point once again. Coming out again I roll an 8 and then the next roll I hit the hard 10 again! Boom, everyone is going crazy, tons of people come over to watch and the guy who missed the first hit is running around yelling. I toss the dealers $350 again from my $825 payout, a promise is a promise! I leave the table with $5700 for a profit of $3200, and I head to sleep at around 2am.
I'm too hyped for proper sleep though, because I'm up at 5am and want to play more. I head downstairs, but the craps table is closed, so I go next door where they always have the table open. I get a free buffet at this other casino, and it opens at 9, so I figure I'll play until then. The table is 2 people, one is a guy who came over and started playing in the middle of my 2nd time hitting the all, so he missed the big payday but still got a nice roll of a few points.
I buy in $1400 this time because it makes an even amount in my roll in my pocket, and the table starts off pretty nicely, with some solid rolls by the other players and me mostly breaking even on my own rolls. I'm up to around $2000 when the dice come to me and I throw out my normal action. I get going and I'm nailing 6s and 8s back and forth, just absolutely crushing it. I hit some other numbers as well along the way, and suddenly I'm just the 11 away from the all! I throw about 15 more times without hitting it, and it's frustrating because the first die to stop keeps stopping on 6, but the second die won't comply. I tell the dealers about my $3 for me $2 for them deal on the payout, and finally after hitting another point my first throw out is the yo! I throw the dealers $350 again (damn $1050 in tips just from that, I'm not usually the crazy generous guy) and I hold the dice for awhile longer, hitting more numbers. I'm up to $4200 at this point, and I'm tempted to just leave, but decide to wait until 9am like my original plan.
Next time around the table I point 7 and everyone else threw poorly too, so I'm down to $3700 and annoyed at myself for not leaving before. I decide to stick it out, and when I get the dice again I once again get on a crazy roll. Once again I hit a bunch of numbers, and suddenly I'm just the 11 away from the all again! Unfortunately I hit the 7 and don't get a ridiculous 4th time hitting the all in one day, but my roll was still great and I ended up leaving the table with $6000 for a profit of $4800. Total profit on the one night trip was $8000! Unfortunately that still leaves me slightly down for the year (about $1000), but a nice comeback!

TL;DR at the bottom... didn't think I'd end up writing so much lol
*Because the TL;DR itself also seems too long, there is now a TL;DR for the TL;DR!
I love craps soooo much. It is the game I spend perhaps 80% of my time at the casino playing... I just can't seem to stay away from the excitement of flying dice. I do spend a few hours here and there playing poker, and then some slots or video poker for some shits and giggles, but that's really beside the point.
My greatest experience with Craps I would like to share with you all tonight occurred just about a day ago at the time of this writing; everything unfolded around the crack of midnight (CST) on the 19th of November. The shooter to the right of me had just seven'd out, so it was now my turn to shoot. I was a bit disappointed to see that right after the seven out, the entire other half of the table had suddenly up and vanished... leaving it to just me and two others to my right (I was on the far left of the table from the stickman's perspective).
I had a pretty routine coming out... rolled a point but alas I forget which one. Here's where things get interesting, though - right after my come out, this big white dude just comes waltzing in with his black ($100), purple ($500), and orange ($1,000) chips, settles himself on the exact opposite side of the table, and drops two or three black chips right on hard 8.
You can imagine what happens next - I roll his pair of 4s immediately after his last-minute bet! I was in utter disbelief. He, I, and the player next to me generated as much of an uproar as three dudes could handle, which naturally caused some lurkers nearby to come flowing right in to make the game lively once more. I remember his words exactly: "Boom, THAT'S how you start the night!!" In fact, he was so excited about the roll that he went and tossed me a black chip right across the table... needless to say I greatly appreciated the goodwill!!
With a sudden surge of positive vibes and energy, I became increasingly eager to shoot some more and win people some more money. I like to think the positive mindset helped in some way because my following rolls got some players some nice place money, and, while deftly avoiding the big red, I managed to roll my point, and was getting ready to come out again. At this point the big white dude was solidly up - no doubt from the many different sources of income I had generated for him with his $100+ place bets and $25 pass line + $200-$400 odds bet ($15 minimum bet and 20x odds table). I wish I could tell exactly how much he was up, but the player next to me told me that he was being smart by chipmunking away some of his winnings in his pocket as he won them.
Anyway, I put my standard $15 on the pass line, while the big white dude decided on another major center bet - $100 horn high ace-deuce for himself, $25 horn high ace-deuce for the dealers, and finally $25 horn high ace-deuce for the shooter... me! I thought there was no way I could fulfill yet another absurdly risky bet, especially after hitting his monster hard 8 earlier... but as you might guess, I toss the dice once more and they in fact came up ace-deuce, just as he ordered them!! The table absolutely ERUPTED - it seemed that several other players followed suit with the big white dude's betting habits due to how well he was doing. It was all so unbelievable - so unbelievable in fact, that if I didn't know any better, I would have thought I was playing a part in a craps-related movie, because everything that unfolded thus far indeed felt like it was all straight out of a movie. Because honestly, how often do you get to see someone call a 1/36 or 1/18 probability roll and have it show up mere seconds later?
So by rolling the ace-deuce, I lost my pass line bet, but of course I didn't care - I just won $135 because of the horn high ace-deuce bet the big white dude made for me. As if his previous gesture of goodwill wasn't enough, he went and tossed me yet another black chip... and then several seconds later, another one for good measure. I would never have imagined that I would have rolled so well to have made $300 come not from Craps winnings, but from one man's insanely generous tipping instead.
It was at this point that I was stowing away some chips in my pocket as well - I had come to the table with $300 in the red, but after my relatively hot shooting and the man's sheer philanthropy, I was now instead around $300 in the black. I proceed to roll some more as usual, and it was not too long afterwards that the man decided on yet another major bet - several hundred dollars on hard 8, and several hundred dollars hopping the 8s. As if to emphasize the fact that history often repeats itself, the hard 8 came up yet again!!! Boom, 30-to-1 on his $100 hop bet and 9-to-1 on his several hundreds of dollars' hard 8 bet, earning him a sick payout of around 5 or 6 grand. He threw me another black chip because why not.
Seeing as how I managed to roll 2 hard 8s for him almost seemingly on demand, he turned the stakes up a huge notch and put north of $1,000 once again on the hard 8. My memory seems to like recalling very specific things, because I also recall these words exactly: "If this comes in... you're getting PAID." I have never wanted a specific dice combination to come up so badly. I wanted him to win a staggering 10 grand because I'm sure anyone would agree with me when I say it takes balls to bet four figures on a 9-to-1 bet.
Alas... it wasn't meant to be. The next roll came up 4-3, and thus I finally 7'd out after what felt like 30 minutes of solid shooting. If only that 3 did a complete 180... ah I suppose I can only leave that up to my imagination now.
The party didn't stop there, however - it was now the big white dude's turn to shoot. Whenever I'm feeling particularly frisky, I like to bet 5-5-5 on Bonus Craps in addition to my $15 pass line bet. It seemed only fair to have faith in this man since he had so much faith in me - thus, I tossed 3 red chips on the table and didn't think much of it (since the bet obviously loses the vast majority of the time). He immediately comes out with a 7, making my net result for that roll a push - but I didn't sweat it since I was doing very well so far. Afterwards he then declared that that's the last 7 we'll ever see.
True to his word, he became quite the hot shooter himself and started making short work of the Bonus Craps board, filling in numbers while also making his points. He eventually came to be one away from the All Tall board - one Yoleven and the 34-to-1 payout was ours. Just like magic, he soon enough rolled the fateful Yo, giving almost everyone some sweet payouts in multiples of $170 depending on how many red chips they put at stake - I put $5, some others put $10 or $15, and the big white dude himself of course did the maximum - $25. $850 for him, just like that. I was admittedly already satisfied enough to have won $170 since that was the first time I had ever actually won a Bonus Craps bet.
You can of course probably see where this is going as well... as if big red didn't exist whatsoever, he continued to make progress towards the All Small board until it came down to one number remaining once again - ace-deuce. It seemed like the stars aligned for this moment since it felt like more than just pure coincidence that we should both end up needing the magical ace-deuce at two different points in our session. You know what they say - what goes around comes around! As I managed to roll an ace-deuce for him earlier, this time I got to momentarily stand in his shoes as I stood and witnessed him toss the dice in our direction, with the the dice settling face up with three pips combined!! I didn't think it would happen, but it was official... he went and Made 'em All!!! The ace-deuce result absolutely BLEW the roof of this casino floor. We all rejoiced, I embraced the player next to me with the knowledge of just having won $1,045 on a $10 bet, and the big white dude, as smug as he deserved to be, stood nodding with his arms extended outward for coming through with the ace-deuce. Something about this man... in addition to accurately calling the result of some of my crucial dice rolls, he was able to do just about the same for his own shooting. Needless to say, this moment has been the absolute peak of my experience with Craps thus far, and I am simply thrilled to have had the privilege to have been a part of this fantastic table.
As a little cherry on top, he finally 7'd out one or two rolls after the Bonus Craps bets were paid, giving us all a little reminder that big red does indeed exist... but of course it's better that it happened after the Bonus Craps payout!
The dice spent just about an hour in the hands of me and the big white dude's combined... I don't know if I'll ever get to experience such an amazing session again. After staying for another shooter, and of course, watching him 7 out soon after, I tip the dealers a green and finally ask to color up. I take all the blacks and greens out of my pocket and they conveniently added up to two orange chips exactly. At the start of the session, I had dropped $100 on the table to receive 20 reds... which meant that the session yielded a fabulous $1,900 profit. I was $300 in the red when I came to the table; the $1,900 session profit turned that right around and put me $1,600 in the black. It is a greater profit than I could have ever imagined possible with my conservative betting habits (I only ever bring $1,000 to the casino and usually make small bets ranging from $15-30 at the Craps table, $50+ if I'm feeling particularly lucky or tilty, while buying in for the $100 minimum (or close to it) at the poker table. I wish I could say that I kept the entire $1,600 profit, but, being that I was so far ahead, I decided to have fun and explore the rest of the casino for a bit. Played a slot machine (Jumpin' Jalapenos) and video poker (Deuces Wild) and lost $100 combined, but I didn't really sweat that loss all that much. Went right back to the craps table and gave back another $165 before I decided enough was enough.
Overall, I came into the casino with $1,000 and left with $2,335 for a $1,335 profit. For a bit of perspective, I had only visited the casino twice beforehand as I had just recently turned 21, and the two previous trips ended up +$350 and +$60, respectively. This trip obviously blew the previous two out of the water. I'm excited to know that if/when I go again in the near future, I'll be playing purely with house money, which should hopefully make the experience even more fun and enjoyable. Because that's really what I want to try to make the experience all about - more about having fun and less about trying to come out ahead (though of course it's awesome if/when it does happen).
TL;DR: I was at the craps table and was preparing to shoot when a big white dude comes in to shake things up. He bets several hundred dollars on hard 8 - I roll the hard 8 immediately afterwards. He tosses me a black chip to thank me for what I'm sure felt like an instant pay day! Later, he bets horn high ace-deuce three-way - $100 for himself, $25 for the dealers and $25 for myself. The ace-deuce comes in immediately afterwards, as if to grant all our wishes! He tossed me two black chips this time! Later he bets on hard 8 once again, but this time with a $300 hop bet on all the 8s to go with it. Rolled yet another hard 8... as if by demand! Tosses me yet another black chip, as if the first three were not enough! He then proceeds to make the biggest bet I have seen at a craps table - $1,000+ once again on hard 8. I wish I could have made it happen, but alas, it came up 4-3. Thus, I was finally done shooting, so now it was his turn to decide all our fates. I did a 5-5-5 Bonus Craps on a whim, unaware of just how much it would mean later on... he proceeds to win the All Tall bet by rolling a Yo, which got me a sweet $170 payout. As if it wasn't enough, he soon ended up being 1 number away from Makin' Em All - the ace-deuce. I rolled the ace-deuce for him once, so I thought it just might be possible that he'd be able to return the favor. Sure enough, I got to witness the fateful 1-2 show up, which meant we all won our All Small and Make 'Em All bets. Almost everyone at the table won this 34-to-1 and 175-to-1 payout... I was awarded an additional $1,045 for this $10 bet! I started at this table by dropping a $100 bill and proceeded to turn it into two $1,000 orange chips, which of course meant a $1,900 session profit. I was overall $300 in the red when I came to the table - thanks to everything that unfolded at the table, I left with $1,600 in the black. I gave back $265 to slots, video poker, and a little more craps afterwards, but honestly I didn't sweat that loss all that much since it was house money after all. By far the best Craps experience I've ever had, and if nothing else, I would love nothing more than to once again enjoy the positive spirit and camaraderie that the Craps table was overflowing with that night.
TL;DR the TL;DR: Hit hard 8, ace-deuce, and finally hard 8 again for this big white dude. Wins perhaps around 8-10 grand with those bets and tosses me 4 black chips because of it, which of course I greatly appreciated. I finally seven out, he starts shooting, but not before I do 5-5-5 on Bonus Craps... he first finishes the All Tall with a Yo for $170, then was an ace-deuce away from Small/All... soon enough, ACE-DEUCE!!! Got an additional $1,045 for that $10 bet. Walked away with 2 orange ($1,000) chips after buying in for only $100. $300 in the red turned into $1,600 in the black, then $1,335 in the black after giving some of it back to the casino lol. The greatest Craps night I’ve ever had.

Went to my namesake yesterday, Bethlehem Sands in PA.
I've been going to Mt. Airy for quite a while almost exclusively (when I'm not out of town), as it usually has $5 or $10 tables and rarely $15 tables. The downside is they have three tables and other than weekend afternoons a max of two is open.
​
OK, got to Sands about 2 p.m. on New year's Day afternoon.
Of their 6 tables, three were open with one at $25 and the other two at $10.
All were moderately crowded (like 9 people each).
I went to a $10 table and bought in for $300.
Proceeded to play the DP or DC on a few players. When I get the 6/8 on the DP/DC I put up a second DC bet, with the intent of coming down on the 6/8 when the new bet goes to a more favorable number. Basically, won a couple of 7-outs, but also suffered a few come out yos and a couple of points. Ended up down $60.
Flipped to the right side. and it was so so, didn't really lose any more money. On the $10 table, my strat is as follows, with a "budget" of $60 per shooter. For any given shooter, if I run out of that $60, I don;t put anything else on the table, as that is as much as I will risk per shooter.
1) After point is set, place 6/8 for $12 each and a $10 Come bet.
2) Continue come betting without odds until I have 4 numbers up, while staying on the 6/8 at all times. If I wend up with 6/8 and 4/10, I will do an additional Come bet. I have a ton of 'Off and On's, and too many losses on craps rolls.
3) If the Come bet gets knocked off by a craps number, I go back up and play a $1 Any Craps.
4) If the roll goes well, once I have that $60 back in my rack, I try not to invade that money (I segregate it) and I will then start putting odds on the Come Bets. Often by this time I will be up on 5 come bets or 4 Come bets and a single place bet. As I win more bets I put $1 on all the hard ways and I start adding a unit of odds to my bets working my way from the inside out.
Eventually it went to a $15 table about 5 p.m.
Yesterday, the table was moving pretty slow as there was a TON of center actions. Every roll had multiple people replacing or increasing hardway bets, there was frequent hop betting (crazy!), and tons of bets in the horn area.
​
The table was never really cold, or even more than chilly but for a brief time. On my second turn with the dice, I had a big roll with a lot of hardways. I also threw a lot of craps numbers and had to start covering myself on those. Other people were making a fortune on the hardways and horn stuff.
A couple of other people also had good runs and I kept building my rack to the point that I pocketed my original buy-in and started to play a bit more aggressively. Eventually, I had a second also very nice roll.
One shooter in particular stands out. I decided to play him more conservatively as he wasn't treating the dice with proper respect. I started with a $15 9 and he hit it on the first roll after the Come Out. I had the dealer convert it to an $18 6 & $18 8. He proceeded to hit that, so I went up a unit and took my original bet of $15 off the table. From there he hit a few more 6/8s and I went up a unit on each one to the point where I had a $30 6 and a $30 8 plus I had taken one payout and did a $15 Come bet that went up and then got hit for a win.
​
Anyhow, taking into account chips I gave to my wife (slots loss subsidy) a colored up for a bit over $800! By far my biggest win ever. The nice part was one of my Mt. Airy acquaintances happened to arrive at my table and caught I think both of my good rolls.
​
All in all, it was a great afternoon, that would have been grater if my wife hadn't dumped over $300 on the slots (which Is mainly why I prefer not to bring her).

Inspired by a recent post about Ontario casinos, here is a report on my recent trip to Caesars Windsor (Nov 1-3).
First thing to note is Caesars Windsor has a legitimate, real-deal craps pit. 2 crapless craps tables and 4 craps tables. Friday night the 4 craps tables were open ($15 minimum, 1 table fluctuated between $15-25) and one crapless craps tables were open. Basically, if you wanted to play you could find a spot for a game with a decent pace of play. (This has not been my experience at Fallsview in Niagara Falls, for example, which only has 2 craps tables on the main casino floor -with only 1 table open during the day).
$10 minimum tables were available Thursday night and Friday afternoon. Generally at least 2 craps tables open from 10 AM on. The crapless table opened at noon, from what I saw. Sometimes a table would be reserved for a high-roller ... the upside being when he left a fully staffed table opened up for other players.
Second point is that Caesars has full 5X odds. "Full" odds allows $15 pass/come bets to take $125 odds on 6/8 and $100 odds on 5/9. So this provides a good opportunity to press up your odds on a hot roll and/or start with high odds bets. Additional odds (beyond a simple 5 X multiplier) are available on flat bets of $30, $75 (multiples of $3, generally speaking). When full 5X odds are applicable, payouts for all the numbers are the same (e.g., with $15 flat bets and max "full 5X odds" the payout for all the numbers is $165).
[An old Alan Krigman column online explained "full odds" this way ... Imagine a casino with a $3 minimum, single odds and no chips with denominations under $1... On points of 6/8, $3 odds would not result in a proper payout ... therefore, single odds on points of 6/8 are $5. Similarly, $3 odds does not lead to a proper payout on points of 5/9, therefore single odds on points of 5/9 are $4. If the same casino goes to "full 5X" odds, a $3 minimum bet can now take $25 odds on the 6/8 (5 times $5 single odds) and a $3 minimum bet can now take $20 odds on the 5/9 (5 times $4 single odds) ... Scaling up from $3 results in a $15 flat bet being allowed to take $125 on the 6/8 and $100 on the 5/9].
Third point is that Caesars has the Fire bet.
Fourth point. Caesars Windsor dealers are friendly and good. They do get a fair bit of craps play (from what I saw). The more experienced dealers worked the afternoon shift, with greener dealers working at night.
I play an aggressive style of line bets + odds, placing the 6/8 and continuous come bets. If my 6/8 hits I (basically) full press my wager by putting odds (e.g., $10 come bet, place 6/8 $30 each, 6 hits, comes to 6, down with $50 odds, $10 come bet, $5 in the rack). My bad habits are 1) $15 hardway on the point if the point can be rolled hard (i.e., 4/10 or 6/8- open to suggestions on what hardways to bet on points of 5/9) and 2) $75 YO-ELEVEN if 2 YOs have hit consecutively (going for the trio ... 0-2 on this bet this trip).
AT $10 minimum my come bets will take $50 odds (although I did scale down to double odds, with $25 odds for 6/8 at times). AT $15 minimum I'd generally take $30 odds on 4/10, $40 odds on 5/9 and $50 odds on 6/8. Sometimes just go straight to $50 odds. With $15, I'd press up my odds to the "full 5X odds" maximum on a hot streak.
Lots of volatility with some bad sessions and some good sessions and escaped with a modest profit.
Alas, the dealers didn't do well on my bets for them. My general tipping method (to give some tips while I'm playing) flows through my hardway bets. If one of my $15 hardway bets hits, I a press it up $5 for 4/10 (to $20) and press up $10 for 6/8 (to $25) and then throw $5 on that hardway for the dealers (and hand-in a $5 tip). I think they hit exactly 1 of these hardway bets over the whole trip. Also - when I was going for my fifth point to the Fire Bet - I needed a 4 - I had the dealers $22 inside, $3 hard 4 and place the 4 for $5 .... and .... and .... and .... 7-out immediately followed.
All-in-all a good trip.
​
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I finished all of the classes I need for my major a semester early, so I'm done with college. I'm working a full time job as a Special Education Assistant at a local elementary school, so I still get spring break, which naturally meant a Vegas trip. My friends’ reactions varied from “weren’t you just there?!?” to “how many times have you been there?” (5, not that I’m counting), to “of course you are.” (Un)fortunately all of my buddies from college had spring break a week before mine, so I had an excuse for a solo trip.
I really enjoy solo trips. I love the freedom that comes with them, and being able to call the shots however I want without having to worry about anyone else. I like meeting people, doing my own thing, and being able to follow my whims. That said, in a crazy turn of events, I was able to coordinate a meeting with a girl I’d matched with on Tinder (hereafter referred to as Cinderella). I matched with her a year ago during a layover at O’Hare on my way back from Japan, and we’ve talked off and on. Her spring break lined up with mine, and I jokingly invited her. She actually took e seriously, and by that point I couldn’t back out, so it was on. I flew out to the desert on Sunday and came back Thursday evening, whereas I got her to fly out Tuesday and leave Thursday morning, leaving me ample time for gambling on both ends.
I budgeted my usual $100 a day for gambling, for a $500 bankroll. I’ve been refining my money management system to ensure that I keep enough in the kitty to keep gambling and keep coming to Vegas. The gist of it is that I bring a fresh $100 bill with me each day, and keep whatever I have left at the end of the day for next time. I try to protect my winnings by cashing out my initial buy in if I double it, pocketing that for the next trip, and playing only the amount of my initial buy in, hopefully with many more pocketed chips. I really have to stick to this and a preset loss limit because I’m operating on a loss limit.
I booked a flight on Allegiant, direct from Colorado Springs for $76 one way. I was hoping the flight back would go down, but it never did, so I ended up paying $170 for the flight back. Not too bad considering I had three nights comped at the Golden Gate and I didn’t have to pay for a shuttle from DIA (I just gave my buddy some whiskey for the trouble of driving me).
I maxed out my comped room offer at the Golden Gate, booking for three nights from Sunday-Tuesday. I stayed at Harrah's Wednesday, since I like to take the strip in for one day (after I get the gambling out of my system), and also because I wanted to give Tinderella the full Vegas experience for her first time.
As per usual, I fit my grossly overpacked bag under the seat as a "personal item" in order to avoid paying the exorbitant bag fees. It's a point of pride for me to be able to stick it to the airlines and efficiently pack 4 days worth of things into a small grocery bag. In a related matter of principle, my signature shooters of rum made the trip to COS with me.
A friend and his partner picked me up from the airport and we went to Pho Kim Long. It was my first time eating Vietnamese, and I really enjoyed it. I sampled some pho, grilled chicken, milk tea, and an eggplant dish. It was all so good, and I was so starving, that I forgot to document any of it.
I checked into my room at the Golden Gate, and dropped my bags off. As per usual, the room was loud and I could hear people walking in the halls, and the shower has two temperatures: freezing or scorching. Oh well, free is free.
I went down to the players club to redeem my Allegiant match play (2 $25 chips if you show a confirmation number within 24 hours of landing). I was pleasantly surprised to see the same lady who helped me last time. She remembered me and said it was great to see me again and we chatted while she redeemed my offers. It felt pretty good to have someone remember me in Vegas, although it did make me feel slightly degenerate at the same time (not that that makes me feel bad; it’s a point of pride). In addition to my room, I also had $10 of free slot play and $15 of food credit at DuPar's. Who says gambling can't pay off?
SUNDAY
I went to Binion's to play some Bonus Poker, which was more like Boner Poker. I got boned for $60 without hitting anything particularly noteworthy. The scattered straights and flushes that I hit weren't enough to bring me positive, and I was chasing my losses the whole time. I got $5 free play and a $10 food credit for the cafe on my Motherlode spins.
Down to my last $40 for the day less than 30 minutes into the night, I was pretty frustrated. Since it was already late, I decided to play aggressive and try to turn it around. I went to the Golden Gate and bought into blackjack with all of my bankroll for the night a little after midnight.
I wasn't having much luck, even though everyone at the table besides me seemed to be winning. I was down to my last $25, so I went all in with my match play. I’m a (single) red chip player, so betting green is huge for me. At a quarter of my bankroll, and all that I have left, I’m freaking out. I can barely stand to look up, and I see an Ace. I try to stay calm and not get ahead of myself, and then the second card comes: Jack! I hit a blackjack for a sweet $75 payout that brought me right back to where I'd started for the day. I pocketed 2 greens and kept playing with the remaining $50. I worked up the courage to put down my second match play after steadily increasing my chip count and pocketing a couple more greens. On the second big matchplay hand, my 17 beat a dealer bust. I pocketed another $50 and kept playing.
At this point, my bankroll management strategy is really coming into play. I’m fairly steadily pocketing greens, (and $5 worth of 50¢ chips from blackjacks). I was tipping generously, betting a dollar for the dealer every few hands. It was a good table, with a fun lesbian couple (who played with horrible strategy, splitting 10s and staying on 14s, to name a few… luckily I don’t mind how others play, because in the long run it events out) and some nice guys who came in later.
I got a pair of aces, which I split only to get 2 more aces and learn that you aren't allowed to resplit aces. My 2 12s lost to a dealer 17 which was painful, but I can't complain too much after paying for my flight with the match play alone.
A new dealer came in after a while and all of my friends left, so I was playing heads up. I wasn't feeling it, so after I lost $25 I colored up and walked away with $250 at 4:30am. It was a huge relief to lock in half of my bankroll as a guaranteed return the first night, especially after being down so fast. I was so wired after playing for 4+ hours and increasing my buy in 8x that I couldn't sleep, so I called both of my parents before they went to work and texted my degenerate cousin the great news.
$100 in, $250 out (+$150) +$150 on the trip
MONDAY I slept until noon and took it easy after waking up. I went to Mermaid's for some quick drink service to start the day, and turned $5 into $20 on a vintage nickel WoF multireel. Unfortunately the luck didn't continue, and I donked it (and $60) off at Boner Poker. I hit a few full houses/flushes/straights, but it wasn't enough to get me above water. I hit four to a royal twice, but couldn’t finish it either time.
Had lunch at Binion's, using my $10 voucher to get pancakes, scrambled eggs, and wheat toast. At least I got something (a $100 brunch) out of all the Boner Poker losses.
I bought into $3 craps at the Fremont for $21. I've been cutting my teeth at $1 craps at the Wildwood Casino out in Colorado, so I was excited to give it a shot in Vegas. I lucked out and ran my $21 up to $50. I should've pressed harder since two shooters had rolls of 26 and 27, but at least I left with something.
I went to the D for some horses and cocktails. I bought in for $30 and was hammered by the end. I had enough wins to keep me there for a few hours, including a nice 105 payout on 4-5. I called it an early night and went to bed around midnight since I was so drunk and because I'd lost all my money.
$100 in, $0 out (-$100) +$50 on the trip
TUESDAY I woke up with a nice hangover from all of the Whiskey Cokes I'd drank at the Derby the previous night, so I did the only thing to do in that situation: mimosas and a greasy burger (after buying overpriced Advil at the ABC store). I went to Flippin' Good Burgers and got my usual, the Farm Burger. It's one of all time favorite burgers and I love getting it every time! I can't recommend them enough.
I donked off $40 on Boner Poker at Binion’s and some random slots, and blew $10 at 25¢ roulette at the El Cortez. I was chasing a 20 (not sure why, I just had a hunch... Maybe Nate is rubbing off on me) and didn't hit it, so I lost after treading water for a while. After losing all this before lunch, I decided to add a discretionary $20 more to my kitty for the day.
My tinderella got in about 2:30 in the afternoon, at which point I was playing craps. I made her wait until the roll was done to go meet her, like the true degenerate I am. She wasn't happy that I made her wait with all of her bags, but I can't say that I regret my choices. After she dropped her stuff off, we went to Binion’s where I used a $10 coupon to pay for my guilty pleasure of country fried steak and eggs. I picked up the rest of the tab with comp dollars, which was pretty satisfying for a low roller like me.
After lunch, Tinderella wanted to play blackjack, so naturally I obliged. Bought in for $30 at the GG and was able to run it up to $50. She was gambling with scared money (she bought in for $5…) and didn't really enjoy it, but that didn't stop me.
We headed to the Fremont for craps, but she didn't want to play. We can't all be degenerates. I bought in for $30 and played for a while and could tell she was getting bored. I told her (in between rolls of course) that she's welcome to leave any time, and she was gone before the next shooter sevened out. I stayed for a while, and with the help of a hot shooter was able to cash out for $100.
I went to GG for $25 worth of BJ before bed, content that I'd locked in $100 on the day. I played for a good 2 hours on my $25 buy in before losing it, so I was happy. I had a massive hand where I split 2s, resplit, and doubled a 9 against a dealer 4. This took all of my money on the table, so the guy next to me (who was so drunk off of two Coronas that he couldn't add up his cards or figure out what his total was with aces) spotted me $5. Luckily I won, and had a massive $40 payout, and gave him his red back as well as betting a dealer tip for him. I was tipping the dealer very generously, and helped her color up her tokes to a a green.
Finally content with the gambling, I went up to the room to find Tinderella asleep. When she woke up she said "you weren't kidding about being a degenerate gambler." I can't say I didn't give her fair warning, so I didn't feel too bad. We had a good time and went to bed.
$120 in, $100 out (-$20) +$30 on the trip
WEDNESDAY While I was packing, I ripped my Bucee’s cooler bag, so I had to buy a souvenir Las Vegas bag. Started the day off with breakfast at DuPar’s so I could use my $15 voucher. I got a bacon avocado omelette with jack cheese and a blueberry muffin. It was delicious, as were the pancakes that I stole a bite of. Played a little blackjack and I ran $30 up to $50.
I had a Groupon at Banger Brewing, so we headed there next. $19 for a flight of 4 beers, two half-pint pours, and a one liter growler to go was a steal. I wasn’t a huge fan of the El Heffe (Jalapeño and pepper beer, although it was exactly as described). I loved the Morning Joe (coffee kolsch) however, and took my pour and growler of that. It tasted just like a frappucino without being overly sweet, and was a very unique taste.
We checked out of the Golden Gate and took the Deuce to the Strip. A guy struck up conversation with me, and we talked the whole way about solar energy. Before I got off, we exchanged numbers and he told me that, as far as he was concerned, I'd "aced the interview" and he'd "call within the month with a job offer for me" that will "pay 6 figures." I'm obviously skeptical, but it made for an entertaining ride and it was a nice confidence boost to know that I can ace an interview hammered.
Once we got to the Strip we watched the Bellagio fountains and then went to Harrah’s to check in. I paid the extra $7 to upgrade to a strip view, and the jury’s still out on if it was worth it. The room was surprisingly nice, especially after the comped nights at the Golden Gate.
We got a half hour in at the pool before it closed (which was long enough for my fair skin to get sunburned, don’t worry), freshened up, and walked to Ra for dinner.
We got lost in the mall looking for it, but we finally found it and it was delicious! Tinderella insisted on paying for dinner, and I gladly took her up on it. The sushi was incredible! The specialty rolls on happy hour were a delight, and the Viva Las Vegas roll was my favorite.
By the time we finished dinner, it was dark out and surprisingly chilly with the wind. We stopped at H&M where I found a sweater that was 50% off the clearance price, effectively making a $28 sweater $6.49. My frugality thoroughly satisfied, we walked back to the Linq Promenade for some cupcakes and Happy Half Hour on the High Roller.
I bought a cinnamon cupcake from the Cupcake ATM. It saved the wait of standing in line, and it was a pretty cool experience. The frosting was delectable, but the cupcake itself was a little dry and left something to be desired.
We redeemed a Living Social deal for the High Roller (thanks Tinderella), and were in the car within 5 minutes. As we know by now, I’m a value hunter, and even though I didn’t pay for the ride, I wasn’t going to leave any money on the table. I went in with a goal: 10+ drinks in 30 minutes. I started strong with some Jack and Cokes, and was 3 deep by the time we were a quarter of the way up. I switched to a Jack and club for a palette cleanser, and then downed two more Jack and Cokes by the time we reached the top. Once we got to the top, the car did a shot together which put me at 7. I eased up a bit, nursing another Jack and Coke on the way down (8). When we neared the bottom, I switched to a Bud Light (9). I hid it on the rail and ordered another one (10) for last call, and when the bartender told us that we could only bring one drink off, I took a big gulp and stealthily snuck one in my pocket. I made it off, and felt so accomplished!
With my buzz coming on strong, it was time for some gambling. I walked all the way to Hooter’s to sign up for the card and get $15 of match play and $10 free play. I won $12.50 on Boner Poker, which I then lost (plus another $50) on $3 blackjack. The game was so painful I don’t know why I stayed. Past a point, it was like schadenfreude. I kept buying in thinking it would turn around, only to get beat by one or two. The final hand, on which I bet $10, I got a 20 vs a dealer 3. I breathe a sigh of relief, which is intensified when the dealer flips a 10. Guess what comes next: an 8, for a dealer 21. I had a hard time shaking the loss off, not because I lost $50 (I do that all the time), but because it was at Hooter’s. Anywhere else I wouldn’t have minded, but it just felt so dirty.
Tinderella had a flight at 5am, so I stayed up with her and walked her down to the cab, and then crashed.
$100 in, $0 out (-$100) -$70 on the trip
THURSDAY I woke up at 7:45 to pee and felt like absolute death, so I was dreading my 9:15 alarm. I went back to sleep, and miraculously felt fine when I woke up, even beating the alarm by 2 minutes! My stomach didn't feel too great, but after a shower and granola bar I was good to go. I felt like a professional tetris player as I packed my personal item, which had now expanded to include my newly purchased sweater.
I checked out and cracked open the Banger growler that I'd put on ice the night before. I can't say that a liter of beer was what my body wanted after a night of heavy drinking, but I'm a man of principle and I refuse to waste beer, so I did what I needed to do. I cracked my Morning Joe open and started walking North on the Strip. A coffee kolsch was close enough to breakfast for me.
I got on the Deuce with a good buzz going, and walked to Binion's. I played Boner Poker one last time and was up $10 for the first time all trip, but it quickly went back down to $20, at which point I cashed out and called it even. Having earned 5 points, I spun the wheel and got $5 of free play, which I donated back to Boner Poker.
I decided to hit craps hard at the Fremont, buying in for $30. I ran it up to $60 in short order, but then lost it after pressing aggressively. I bought in for $25 more. I was up and down, but finally down to my last $2. I threw it on C and E and was ready to walk away when a 3 hit. The bet stayed on for the next roll (at which point I was tempted to take it off, but I didn’t), and what comes out but a yo? I parlayed my winnings into some place bets and come bets with odds, and ran it up to $81. I colored up and was going to walk with $80, but I decided to throw one more dollar yo on my way out. Guess what hits... another 11! I walked out with $95.
My flight home left at 5:47 and it was already 2pm. On the way to GG for my last blackjack buy in of the trip, I walked across the street from the Fremont to do the free spin at 4Queens. I watched in awe as 3 clubs lined up and the 4Queens hit the payline! I got $25 of free play.
I decided to press up to 50¢ 9/6 Jacks or Better in the hopes of hitting something decent, or at the very least extracting some of the cash value. Instead, I hit literally nothing in all 10 spins, cementing that it was not to be a VP trip. I was gonna try $5 more of quarters, but the bill got stuck. After an attendant came over and I got it back, I tried again only to get the same error. I took it as a sign and left to the Golden Gate.
I bought in for $50 at a table with some fellow Midwesterners (from Wisconsin). I played aggressive since I only had 30 minutes until I should leave for my flight, and I was able to color up to a black. I played my remaining $25 down and walked with $100.
Because I'd gambled so late, I missed the WAX and had to take a Lyft to McCarran. It was $30 and I had perfect timing; by the time I got through security, boarding had begun but I didn't have to rush. No stress of missing the flight, and no wasted time not gambling... Well worth the $30.
The flight was hotter than the 7th circle of hell, and ironically the warmest I was the whole trip since it was so windy every day. The air was a sweet relief, as was the water I'd filled my growler with. Uneventful flight, minus my failed attempt to eat a melted chocolate bar. I typed up the bulk of this TR and basked in the glory of my first winning trip, and tried to ignore the two-part hangover already setting in. The Vegas hangover is hard enough, so it sure didn't help to feel the Long Islands wearing off...
$100 in, $190 out (+$90) +$20 on the trip
TOTAL: $520 in, $540 out +$20 on the trip
I had an awesome trip, and am very happy to have my first WINNING TRIP even if it was only $20! I got a lot of value out of it, and think that four nights was the perfect duration for Spring Break. I got some good gambling and drinking in, but I’m definitely ready to be home and go back to healthy eating and working out. I don’t have the next trip planned, but I’m hoping to come out later in the summer, perhaps for a shorter duration so I could have a higher daily bankroll.
I hope you enjoyed reading my TR! Thanks for taking the time to read through my low-roller account!

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Date: 2013-01-23
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Questions	Answers
Have you ever caught anyone cheating? Ever see someone cheating and not report it?	I have caught people cheating before yes. The most common are card counters and people stealing chips from other players. I highly recommend to not get completely trashed while gambling especially if you're a male and gambling by yourself as there are certain females who'd be more than happy to steal your chips while you're not paying attention.
	The only time I won't report cheating is when they're tipping. If they're a douchebag or stiff, I'll let my Pit Boss know immediately.
	Here's an interesting article on cheating in Vegas by the way.
How can you call card counting cheating?	Vegas has very liberal rules to their blackjack games compared to other cities that have casinos. Vegas offers double deck, stand on all 17s, moving down shuffle points, etc.
	I don't consider card counting cheating, but the casinos do. They are a private business. They can kick anyone off of the property for any reason unless it's illegal discrimination. The casinos don't want players to have an advantage over them.
	To be honest Vegas casinos don't care about card counting unless you're playing on a double deck. You want to play a six or eight deck shoe? It's all yours. But they want no advantage players on a double deck.
You won't report cheating if you are getting tipped, but you will report it if you don't?	I'm talking about card counting. Most card counters are douchebags because they already think they're smartemore arrogant than everyone else though so it's very rare that I'll keep my mouth shut.
We don't consider card counters cheating. We just refuse service to those who can count.	I think you're mixing up "card counting" with actually counting cards.
Who sets the specific rules of the game for say Blackjack, such as how many decks, what the little pre bet rules are, etc? Is there like a standard across Vegas? When would they ever be using a double deck?	It depends on the casino and what type of clientele they cater to.
	Certain higher end casinos will have better rules for the player while the lower end casinos will have terrible house rules.
I am not a professional card counter just good at math, what are the specific rules that you keep the deck even?	Link to en.wikipedia.org.
	The most basic system is the Hi-Lo card counting system.
	10, J, Q, K, & A = -1.
	2, 3, 4, 5, 6 = +1.
	7, 8, 9 = 0.
	With enough practice, you'll be able to figure out the count in real time.
My casino doesn't consider card counting cheating 1) because it's next to impossible to prove & 2) because with a 6 deck shoe it gives negligible advantage. i'm relatively sure that very few casinos if any consider card counting cheating.	Casinos (should) only care if you're card counting on double deck.
It seems like being able to call the odds is just part of the game and what it means to be skilled at it. I don't see how that can be called cheating.	Card counting is a dying art now anyways. With the technology casinos have their disposal, card counters can't get away with it anymore.
Can a card counter win while playing single deck?	You could, but it would be more luck than skill. Most casinos only allow 6 hands to be dealt on a single deck. Not a lot of hands to make a move imo.
I work in a casino in Melbourne Australia. . 6 deck automatic shuffler where the cards are fed back in whenever there is roughly a deck out. . and people have still tried. . its quite funny.	Seems legit.
	It's such a waste of time to try and count cards. I never gamble, but this is what I do...go with friends, get completely smashed, expect to lose the money, and have a good time.
What was the biggest tip you have ever gotten from someone?	The biggest tip I received was $250,000 from a customer. He won $10 million playing baccarat.
What is the usual tips you get from the players?	The usual tips? Most of the time I've dealt on a $100-$500 blackjack game. I'll usually make a couple hundred from each player give or take. I'll usually make 1-5 units of whatever they're playing with whether it'd be $5 chips, $25 chips, $100 chips or $500.
Do you get to keep all that?	I wish. We pool our tips every 24 hours and everyone gets a share of it. I ended up making $1000 that night. We never make money like that so don't think this is a normal occurrence for us.
	I did meet up with the customer at the strip club when I got off of work. One of the most amazing nights I've ever had.
Should have told him to keep it and tip you later that night at the club. Rookie mistake.	My regular customers do when I go to dinner or go out with them.
Are you allowed to keep all of that tip, or do they take a cut/something else?	We pool all of our tips every 24 hours so I did split it with everyone else.
How was your reaction at the table when recieving a $250,000 tip?	It threw me off. I thought he wanted change at first, but then again it was 10 $25,000 chips.
Let me get the details.	Customer paid for everything. Ended up spending about $50,000 that night mainly on alcohol. Never drank so much champagne in my life.
Could you theoretically tell the big winner to tip you when you're off the clock and keep the $250k for yourself?	I wouldn't because I would lose my job as it would be considered "hard hustling".
You had to share that with over 250 people?	The big casinos on the Strip have a lot of dealers in a 24 hour shift.
	At Cosmo, on the weekdays there are about 150 dealers in a 24 hour shift. On the weekends, it can be close to 250-300 dealers and Cosmo is a small casino compared to the rest.
Does this violate any policy the casino might have about interacting with customers?	Technically no. The only thing the casino reminds you is to not be seen gambling with the customer at other casinos and that you're still responsible for your own actions.
You must have been real popular that night.	Bitches love money especially strippers.
Yeah I notice whenever I tip a dealer he/she puts in a slot, so I was thinking how would they know how much each dealer got,	Regardless, it's still the right thing to do if they're providing you a service. Thanks for tipping :)
I'm curious. Since on a night where you received an exorbitant tip and only made $1,000, what is your average tip out per day/week/weekend? Also, what is the largest amount that you yourself have walked out with in a single night? Are you tipped out daily, or is it added to your paycheck? If it is done by paycheck; largest tip out at the end of a paycheck?	At the big casinos (Wynn/Encore, Cosmopolitan, Aria, Caesars) the dealers usually make $150-$200 a night during the weekdays. On the weekends, they'll make around $200-$300+.
	The medium casinos (Bellagio, Planet Hollywood, Paris, Mandalay Bay, MGM Grand) will make around $120-$150 during the weekdays, $150-$200 on the weekends.
	I personally can't accept tips while at work. Outside of work, regular customers would throw me some extra cash on the side on top of whatever they gave me at the table while they were playing. The most someone gave me outside of work was $1000. It was a regular customer.
Of all the celebrity players you've dealt to, which one seemed the most genuine and cool person to interact with.	Coolest would easily be Matt Schaub. 99% of athletes are douchebags, but he's super nice and super cool. Awesome tipper too. Down to earth and extremely humble. Runners up goes to Chris Evans. Captain America can't handle his alcohol and is an arrogant prick too. "Do you know who the fuck I am?" was probably his most overheard line while I was dealing to him. 2nd runners up goes to Chef Tim Love. He's a stiff and a cry baby. Constantly boasts about all the $10,000 bottles of wine he drinks.
Who was the worst and why?	Ironically the worst would be Will Farrell. The guy is a huge asshole when he's gambling and the camera's off. Huge prick.
As a huge Redskins fan, I notice DeAngelo Hall has some attitude issues on the field. Was he any nicer when you dealt to him?	Really nice guy. From my experience, he plays by himself and doesn't have a huge entourage like most athletes do. Even when he loses, he doesn't have an attitude problem.
That's pretty disappointing. Will Farrell is one of my favorite actors and I always assumed he'd be a cool, down to earth guy off-camera. Oh well, it's not like I'll ever see him in real life anyway. But if I do, I'll know to punch him in the balls.	You know who is also a cool guy that surprised me? Rush Limbaugh.
	The guy is an awesome tipper and kind of cool to talk to even though he's an extreme right-winger.
If a celebrity ever said "Do you know who the fuck I am?", I would instantly say something along the lines "Why should I give a fuck who you are?"	I pretty much said that to Chris Evans every time he said that.
Maybe in public but go have dinner with his family in Springfield, MO-- Racial slurs everywhere!	Any stories you'd like to tell me?
What was your impression of D Rose?	Derrick Rose is a cool guy. Played a little bit of blackjack and roulette with Durant.
	Hope is ACL is good to go now :(
Doesn't Tebow know gambling is a sin???	I wasn't going to ask him that especially with the Broncos offensive line surrounding him.
How many times have you heard someone say 'Vegas baby!' or 'you're so money' when Vince Vaughn was at the tables?	Never.
	You know what I hear the most and is like nails on a chalkboard for casino employees?
	"WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER!"
I am going to go to every single casino and scream winner winner chicken dinner. When I finally get punched in the face I'll know it's you. Then we can go party with some celebs at the strip club. Deal?	Seems legit.
Do you get the asians who yell monkey who want a 10 in blackjack? It seems like 90% of asians in the casino I frequent do this.	Gamblers scream out monkey regardless of their race. White, black, asian, spanish, etc.
Whats the most money you've seen lost by one person in a day?	Craps - $5 million.
	Blackjack - $5 million.
	Baccarat - $10 million.
	European Roulette - $2 million.
Just out of my own curiousity, was it an asian person that lost $10 million on baccarat?	You are correct. A Chinese businessman to be exact.
Holy shit that's crazy! How often do you see someone lose money in the millions?	I deal to million dollar players quite often. But getting their ass handed to them? Not that often. I want to say like every 3-4 weeks.
	Players win often and players do lose often, but it's rare to see them tap their line.
What's the usual reaction when someone loses money > million?	I've seen customers smash glasses, break things, punch the wall, punch the roulette readerboard, etc. They usually keep their cool most of the time, but once in a while...
	"OMG WTF ARE YOU KIDDING? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING DUDEITSPANDA! THIS IS SOME FUCKING BULLSHIT. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS JUST HAPPENED TO ME. YOU ARE THE WORST DEALER EVER. YOU GIVE ME THE WORST FUCKING HANDS ON BLACKJACK. WHY DO I EVEN PLAY THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME!!!"
WHY DO I EVEN PLAY THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME!!!	Most players like to play Captain Obvious or Captain Hindsight.
Maybe the only important thought the person should be considering. Hah.	"DAMN IT I SHOULDN'T HAVE BET THAT MUCH. DAMN IT I SHOULD HAVE BET MORE!"
Heh, I've seen that happen at the $5 tables in Indian casinos in Michigan while waiting for a seat in the poker room.	I usually just giggle whenever a $5-$10 players loses $100-$200 bucks.
	"Is it really the end of the world losing $200?" is typically what I tell them.
How are high-limit dealers paid? Salaried? Benefits? Would you be willing to say how much (ballpark) high-stakes dealers make in a year? what about low-stakes? Are dealers allowed to gamble in the casino they work for? Thanks, this is a sweet AmA.	Dealers are paid the same regardless of what games they play and it's minimum wage. Yes you heard it...casinos only pay us minimum wage. We rely completely on tips.
	Casinos are normally run businesses so full time employees are offered insurance, 401k, vacation time, etc.
	Dealers are NOT allowed to gamble in the casino they work for. It's mainly to prevent collusion. Dealers are allowed to play slots in the casino they work for, but cannot play anything with a progressive jackpot (Megabucks, Wheel of Fortune, etc.). Dealers are allowed to play whatever they want in any other casino.
I think it's pretty awesome that dealers get a 401k and insurance. That plus the decent money you mentioned below make dealing sound like a pretty awesome job.	It isn't that bad of a job, but dealing to douchebags and degenerates wears on you after a while.
What are the best casinos and hotels in Las Vegas? As in the top 5 casino/hotels? What is your favorite and why?	Wynn Las Vegas/Encore
Oh and why are there hundreds of Mexican people handing out those cards for prostitutes on the street and allowed to just litter the whole strip with them?	The loiters have first amendment rights basically. They changed the law this year so now whenever cards they pass out fall to the ground, they're supposed to pick them up. I was never too happy with the escort ads on the Strip. 1. The girls don't actually provide the service most of the time. They're just there to rip off guys. 2. It puts a negative light on the city.
Thanks for the answer. I was in vegas for about 3 days staying at circus circus (don't laugh) and the first night we walked the whole strip (i had no idea it would take that long) and it really annoyed me to see the streets just littered with the prostitute cards.	We Vegas locals don't like it either trust me. We also don't like those stupid street performers that are on the Strip. The only one that's cool in my book is the guy that will let you kick him in the nuts for $20.
How much do you think the avg "street performer" say for example, the dudes wearing Mario and Luigi costumes r the Tranformer guys would make in a night?	No clue. Maybe get one of them to do an AMA?
This might be a longshot, but one time I was there, there was this older black guy in a motorized chair that had this little speakemic/beatbox thing and would freestyle about you and your group (for a tip) and he was phenominal. It was a hightlight of the trip. I've been back a couple of times and always look for him but never find him. Do you know if he's still around/popular?	Nope. Never seen the guy.
What's your flexibility on game pacing, in Blackjack for example?	There is plenty of flexibility on game pace. Casinos instruct dealers to deal at a moderate pace. Not too fast where you seem like a robot and not slow enough where players will fall asleep at the table.
Tl;dr: does the house allow you to deal fewer hands-per-hour in high-limit? If so, why are some dealers doucheclowns about it?	The best scenario for you if you want to play slightly high limit blackjack are blackjack pits that are outside of high limit. It's basically high limit without the title. They're usually $100 6-deck shoe games that stand on all 17s.
Baccarat, on the other hand... shit, I need a book to pass the time. Whoever installs video poker machines into Baccarat tables is going to make a killing.	Dealers are going to be douchebags no matter what. From my personal experience, if I deal fast...I'm trying to get rid of you.
Though my restaurant right now doesn't have it, we do have tip outs to runner ,bussers and bar. Do any casinos impliment this policy? Do you see yourself making a career out of this?	Casinos have tried to implied a tip out policy as a way to subsidize other wages with dealers tips, but it has failed. Wynn Las Vegas/Encore is in court with the dealers right now over it. Wynn won initially, but it got overturned and looks to stay that way. I don't see myself making a career out of it. Casinos are now run by corporations. The way they treat their employees is ridiculous. They show no dedication to us.
In your opinion - what's the best strategy for Craps?	Pass line with full odds. Come bets with full odds as well.
Pass line bets and taking odds on it after the come out? Boxcars, Snake Eyes, Big 6's, Horn High Yo's?	You can place bet, but the edge is still high for the house.
I'm curious too hear what a dealer thinks about this.	Stay away from the prop box at all times. The only time I'll mess around with the prop box is if I throw let's say $1 hardways and ask to parlay at least once if it hits.
Do you know of other dealers who have ever completely lost their cool at a high risk table when either a large amount of money has come into play, or some big time celebrity has come to their table?	Happens all the time. I've seen dealers sweat profusely like they just finished doing cardio on the treadmill, seen dealers completely freeze up or seen dealers crack under the pressure.
	I've seen a couple get in trouble because they tried to take a picture with them after they go on break. That's a huge no-no.
Are the high limit tables the most desirable tables to work? Are dealers sometimes reprimanded by removing them from a high limit table and placing them at a low limit table? (similar to getting a shitty section in a restaurant/bar)	Physically yes. You'll most likely be on a reserved game. The customer doesn't play the majority of the time while you're on shift. So instead of dealing for 8 hours straight, in high limit you might deal one or two hours. The rest of the time you're just hanging out and watching whatever they have on the TV.
Are you a gambler yourself? If so, has working as a dealer improved your game any?	Dealers do get reprimanded and sometimes even get kicked out of high limit for a extended period of time. It has never happened to me, but one day you'll see a dealer dealing to a BIG player. They make a huge mistake and the next day they're on casino war or the Big 6 wheel.
They make a huge mistake.	In the business we call it a jackpot. Jackpot is basically a small mistake that turns into a big mistake.
Like what?	Dealer make mistakes all the time. Wrong payout, messed on the procedure, etc.
What route would you recommend for anyone wanting to get into working as a dealer? Can you give us a brief outline of your rise to the high stakes table?	Go to a dealers school. Learn the basics of dealing, handling chips and game protection. I learned blackjack and craps. It takes about four-eight weeks depending on how fast of a learner you are and how often you show up to school to practice. It took me about five weeks.
	Once you're sufficient enough, you can apply to audition at a low end casino also known as a "break in house." Historically, casinos Downtown such as the El Cortez are well known break in houses for new dealers. Shitty local casinos are also considered break in houses as well. You don't make any money, but it doesn't matter. The whole point is to get experience dealing on a real live game.
	While you're dealing at the break in house, you can learn how to deal all the other games. That's how I learned baccarat and roulette. Once you get enough experience, you start trying to move to better casinos until eventually you get a good, full time job on the Strip.
How long did it take you to move up from a "break in house" to the limelight on the Strip? What's the average?	For most dealers it takes forever. They don't have the skill set or have the connections...aka "juice" as we call it in the business.
	It only took me about two-three years, but for most it can take from five-ten years.
I love playing blackjack at the El Cortez! $5, single deck, 3:2 games.	El Cortez is fun. I love hanging out at the bars next to it.
"You don't make any money"... can you give us a ballpark on what you made at the break-in and how much you make now, including tips?	Break-in dealers barely make $30,000 a year.
Wow, that's a long time to work your way up to a (relatively) low paying job. You said in an earlier reply that high end dealers only make $200-$300 on a weekend night, right? I made close to that in my first bartending gig when I was still in college.	You're probably right. But like I told you, the best dealer jobs pay around $85k a year. It's about $325 a day give or take.
What would you say set you apart from the other dealers? Are you more talented (by which I mean you're just naturally smartebetter) or is it a difference in work ethic or what? If it's a work ethic thing, do you think that had you applied yourself to something else with the same level of dedication you could have succeeded, or have you just been in the right place at the right time consistently?	Glad that you enjoyed the AMA.
Also, as someone who generally does not like AMAs in the last ~2 years, yours has been both informative and interesting. Cheers.	What sets me apart from most dealers is that I have the skill to deal the games properly while being quick on my feet with calculations and knowing what the players feelings are like at the time. Sometimes dealers can talk to the players while sometimes players just want you to shut up and deal. Just got to know when the situation is right for certain things.
Ever seen a grown man cry?	Yes. It's pathetic that a guy can guy from gambling, but yes I have.
Ever hear about someone killing themselves after walking away from your table?	Yes. I tell them they're full of shit which they are 99.9% of the time. They're desperate for attention after they lose.
How funny was Will Ferrel?	Not funny. I was expecting Elf or Stepbrothers, but got Casa de Mi Padre.
Could you tell us how the upper management of the casino works? I guess start with the dealers. I know you guys have pit bosses, but then who is above them? Who reports to who? Who is in contact with the surveillance room? I don't care about the hotel management.	Dealers report to Floor Supervisors. Floor supervisors report to Pit Boss. Pit Boss reports to Shift Manager. Shift Manager reports to Table Games Director.
Did you ever get beat up by joey porter at applebees?	For those that don't know, here's my interaction with Joey Porter.
	I haven't got jumped by Joey Porter...yet. He liked me and other dealers on his game that night. I think he still wants to beat the shit out of my shift boss and pit boss. My shift boss still hasn't eaten at a Applebee's or even a Chili's yet since then.
Yo, man. I been looking for you!	DO YOU EVEN LIFT BRO?
How was Joe Flacco?	He was cool. Not a big player. Kept asking me where he can find a $15 blackjack game haha.
NBA fan here. Did you have any memorable interactions with either James, Wade, or Durant? How was Derrick Rose?	No real memorable interactions. I just loved busting LeBron's balls before he got his first ring.
	I remember before Derrick Rose got serious media attention, I remember telling him two years ago "I like how you're an amazing basketball player, but no one recognizes you right now". Not the case now.
	Kevin Durant is a nice guy.
Have you seen or heard of any casinos that actually rig games?	Nope. Even though most casino managers are idiots in my opinion, they wouldn't be stupid enough to rig a game. Not only would they would lose their gaming license, the casino would get a huge fine and could possibly lose their license as well.
	One thing I tell players if they're gambling...gamble only if there's a gaming commission. You don't even know how many times I've heard stories of players getting screwed over by Indian casinos or cruise ships because there are no gaming commissions overseeing them.
UK here - what's the deal with Indian casinos? clearly they're less regulated - are native Americans known for running 'shady' joints?	I'm not saying that Indian casinos are completely shady...they just do shady things once in a while when the players aren't noticing it.
I always wondered how casino workers were able to handle working in a smoking environment all day. Is there a high rate of respiratory problems with casino workers? Tips for dealing with the smoke?	I don't smoke personally. It's brutal. I try to do more cardio than weightlifting to make up for it.
	My allergies have gotten worse since I started dealing. Whenever I'm on a game, I just try to move the ashtrays in a certain position so I don't get hit with all the smoke.
Obvious question--what kind of experience do casinos require before you're given the keys to a high stakes table?	It's mainly just being able to handle the high action. Dealers tend to freeze up a lot when they see big numbers in front of them. It's also being able to control your game regardless of who is playing on it and regardless of how much they're betting.
Do they make you do a whole back ground check and a lie detector test like they show in movies? i know.. stupid question. just curious.	We get background checked when we apply for our gaming card and when we apply for a new job. We also get hair drug tested and have a credit check done as well.
	Casinos only hire employees with good credit. It shows that the employees are responsible with their money and less susceptible to collusion.
I have a strong interest in playing and dealing cards. Have since I was a kid. How much does dealing become a grind as opposed to something you don't mind doing? I haven't hit that point yet dealing in home games.	It honestly becomes a grind the second you start working. It's exciting the first couple of years because you're seeing new bets or action you haven't dealt with yet on the game, but after a while it becomes the same.
Which of the soccer players that you dealt with won the most?	Probably Rooney. I think he won like $300k. Soccer players aren't big gamblers generally. They just like to hang out at the pool, go clubbing once in a while and do a little bit of gambling.
What was Wayne Rooney like in person? He always seems like a dick to me. Also, how much do you earn?	He's a nice guy. Takes pictures with fans and socializes with everyone.
	Dealers at the most popular casinos (Aria, Wynn/Encore, Cosmopolitan, Caesars) can make $80,000+ a year.
	Dealers that work at the medium properties (MGM Grand, Mandalay Bay, Bellagio, Paris, Planet Hollywood) make around $60,000-$80,000 a year.
What is the most you have seen a person win?	$10 million on baccarat. The customer was playing $175,000 a hand on baccarat.
Baccarat didn't seem to big when I was in Vegas a few years ago, has it picked up?	Baccarat has picked up a lot in Vegas. All the big casinos have baccarat now.
I was a dealer in Australia, high stakes as well and the average for some customers was $2000+. Not bragging or anything, just wondering if Vegas is working on getting the Asian baccarat junkets a bit harder these says.	The problem with baccarat junkets is that the players just rotate between casino to casino. They take advantage of baccarat tournaments and whatever promos they have. The junkets technically don't bring in any new business and they get paid a huge chunk of whatever the player's theoretical is.

Last updated: 2013-01-27 19:42 UTC
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