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Getting there is half the fun

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  • Getting there is half the fun

    Before I get too far into this I wanted to again thank Zipman and everyone else that helped in putting this together. As this was really our 1st real B&M experience, Jennay (Dana) and I were very excited and we were not disappointed.


    This is 1st in a series of long posts. If you manage to read through all of them I may actually get to some poker stories (but don't count on it)

    Day 1

    Our trip up was a comedy of errors and irony. I will save repeating the "what happened to all the suitcases we used to own" story as I put it in my "let the countdown begin" post in the general forum right before we left the house.

    It all began with me waking up with a pounding, throbbing toothache in one or more (or possibly all) of my upper mollars, that was not going to be abated by mere aspirin type products. Fortunately my work associate is a certifiable hypochondriac and came rushing over with some industrial strength vicadin (he carries around a bottle of them in his briefcase the size of a big gulp cup). We get to the airport and (now remember this is the strong dose vicadin which has some other hydrosomethingorother in it) I decide that we will just go straight to long term parking and hump our bags over to the terminal.

    Well suddenly we get hit with one of those south Florida monsoons that looks like it will pass over real quick, and since we are not bright enough to have an umbrella in the car (ok mini van) I decide we should wait it out. Well after about 20 minutes (and after watching 2 volkswagons float by) I decide I should drop Jennay and the bags at the terminal then I will go back and park in long term parking (which I believe for the three days may have cost more or at least the same as 6 taxi rides to the airport). Anyway I drop my lovely, patient and understanding wife and the bags off and zoom around to the rear side long term parking entry (which consists of a 1/2 mile long obstacle course of orange barrels that someone on drugs cannot and should not have to negotiate). I get to the gate arm and when I push the magic button no ticket comes out and the arm does not go up. I look behind me and there are now 11 cars behind me (I look at my watch and time is running out). After about 5 minutes an alien looking golf cart with zip up doors and windows pulls up and I note the driver is about 93 years old. We all watch him struggle for 15 minutes putting on his rain coat and another ten minutes trying to figure out how to open the zippered door (I do not remember how long it took him to open his umbrella once he got out but I am sure it was another 5 minutes at least). By now I am ready to snap and I roll down my window and he says "the machine musta got too wet." I smile and after about ten minutes of him opening and closing the top of the machine and staring intently at the contents the contraption comes back to life and I am on my way again.

    I run inside to find Dana (Jennay) at the front of the check in line waving people through because her bozo husband has still not arrived. We get to the counter and the ticket lady asks if we would like a window or aisle seat. We simultaneously say window and she presents us with or tickets to paradise. I do not travel a lot so the bag checking exercise with the forceps and the magic stridex acne pad keeps me amused for a couple minutes (the drugs helped too). What could this thing possibly detect?

    Well anyway we rush upstairs and endure the strip search procedures that are now necessary and rush to our gate (we are really cutting it close at this point). We get to our gate and find out that there are storms all across the east coast and if and when our plane gets here they will have it ready in 15 minutes. Our original layover for connection in Atlanta (the favorite airport of many world class sprinters) is over an hour so we decide we will probably be OK. We now begin the search for somewhere to sit and the bus scene from Forrest Gumps's 1st day of school is played out over and over as we wander the rows of black naugahide that has become home to many weary travellers.

    After about an hour and six hundred and fifty replays of the standard airport intercom warning about reporting suspicious people we get to enter the fabulous tunnel of entry (or for those South Park fans .."The Line Ride") About half way down the tunnel my lovely, patient and understanding wife gets a whiff of the middle eastern looking guy in front of us and almost passes out. Odors of this maginitude created by mere humans are so amazing that I cannot stop laughing (because I am silly like that and because Dana is teetering to and fro from the lack of oxygen). You know that kind of suppressed laughter that you experience at all the wrong times (funerals, church, important job interviews and the like). the line finally starts moving and I whisper to Dana that I am sure he will be in the seat next to us. By now I am in the midst of an uncontrllable giggle fit and people are pulling their children close to their sides. As we enter the airplane we are both thrilled to see that it only has a row of two seats on our side so we are guaranteed at least a 3 foot gap between us and the source of my asthma inducing laughter. We keep counting down rows, we have row 31, seats A & C (more on that phenomenon later) and we figure out it is the last row. We get to row 31 and there is no window and the seats do not recline and we forced to sit in a position usually reserved for evoking the heartiest of bowel movements. I am still laughing/wheezing uncontrllably (kinda like Tom Hank's in the Money Pit, right after the bathtub falls through the floor) and my lovely, patient and understanding wife is overcome by the same malady.

    Our pilot starts talking to us over the intercom (I have no idea what he said, in my condition it sounded like "over, roger, hold the mayo and do you like movies about gladiators."). Dana played interpreter and told me he said we are going to be flying through 2 very bad storms.

    The engines start up and I determine that our windowless seats must be right next to a nuclear reactor or a jet engine. The vibration is unbearable and a little kinky at the same time. All of my teeth, including the extremely sensitive ones are now aching and I decide it can only get better in a couple minutes when my ears won't pop.

    Eventually the plane takes off and the oldest stewardess to every fly in a plane throws me a bag of pretzels the size of a credit card. As my teeth have been killing me all day and I have not had the courage to even try to eat, I am now starving and I decide the pretzels must be eaten. I open the bag to find that it had obviously been run over by a steam roller and it consists of nothing but crums and salt dust which is perfect for someone with a sore tooth (this airline thinks of everything). I inhale the pretzel dust and ask Dana why the seats are lettered A,C,D,E & F. She comes up with a theory that due to cost saving measures as most planes have ABC DEF seat assignments and an aisle seat must have to be named C (probably some crazy thing like not having a 13th floor in a hi rise building) that they do this to save on mass production. In my drugged condition I ponder this as a viable theory for about 2 minutes and then it hits me that this is about the silliest theory I have ever heard and on comes another bout with uncontrllable laughter followed by me snorting pretzel dust out my nose. We spot the amazing odor producing man 3 rows up and laugh at how the lady next to him is leaning way to her right. Dana tells me that she has met many smelly people of different nationalties that only shower once each month and that this being July 31, we have probably caught one of them on last day before his monthly shower. I announce that this also may be the silliest theory ever to be professed and my lovely, patient and undersatnding wife gives me a good elbow to the ribs.

    We arrive in Atlanta with about 3 seconds to catch our connection and start running to our gate (which as always is at the extreme other end of the airport). Infact our gate is so far away that we have to take a subway train to get to it.

    The Atlanta airport was packed and I noticed that every one was talking on a cell phone explaining their uncertain arrival times. The people not fortunate enough to have a cell phone were walking in zig zagging patterns waving their arms and mumbling like crazy homeless people on a New York sidewalk. And each of them managed to zig right in front of us causing us to stop and start and stop and start.

    We get to our gate completely winded and suffereing from shin splints only to find that we have at least an hour until our plane will arrive. We find two seats together next to a 60ish friendly looking woman. About 2 seconds before my ass hit the seat I realized that I really need a cigarette and I run off to find the nearest smoking area. About 12 gates down from ours I find the carnival sideshow smoking terrarium and enter to light up. Actually there was no need to light up as there was no ventilation at all in this room. I lit up anyway and did my best to not make eye contact with any of the star wars bar scene types that seemed to be everywhere in the lounge. Being alone I got to hear pieces of several exciting conversations about how unhealthy it was that there was no ventilation and other stories of extrodinary smoking lounges at airports throughout the world. My favorite site though was the 2 old ladies standing out in the terminal and holding just their cigarettes in through the lounge doorway and then sticking their heads in for a nano second to take a puff on their cigarettes that were about a footlong and a skinny as a pipe cleaner.

    Having filled my lungs with enough carconigens to last a lifetime and hearing every possible flight delay story ever, I decided to go back and sit with my lovely, patient and undersatnding wife who had erroneously started up a conversation with the 60ish lady. The lady was awesome, an old southern Mephis belle with a charming accent and a rock on her hand the size of an ice cube. She told us all about her golf trip to Ft Lauderdale and that her only son had died ten years ago (which left Dana and I wondering what the politically correct response to such a statement is). Before long our plane arrived and we actually got a window seat. Our plane taxied for about 3 miles and we decided that perhaps since the storms were so bad we may actually just drive to Memphis.

    We arrived in Memphis about 2 hours late but just in time to find Jeremy (win4win) and Mike (Idoru) and his wife Linda. We hop in the stretch limo and get to know a little more about each other talking all the way to the GoldStrike. My mind is racing as I am so excited to finally be here and win millions of dollars off these poor unsuspecting fools. After all I have played a zillion on line tourneys and have read exactly zero books on poker so i got that going for me. We get in line to get our room key and a very big friendly guy goes "is that Forrest Gump" I say yes and he introduces himself as torax.

    We get our key (card) and our room is on the top floor (the 31st just like our windowless seat row). My drug contrlled thinking decides that this is an omen and we dump our stuff in our room and hurry down to the Horseshoe. We get there and finally find what they call the pit (an area of the casino floor with about 20 additional poker tables seperate from the poker room). We quickly meet Zipman, Pokergoddess, Wildbill, New Jane, IndyBob and many others. My excitement, impatience and anticipation are out of control and I want to play right now. After asking everyone including the floorlady a zillion questions we get a single table satellite going. Myself, Jennay, Zip and Idoru are all at the same table along with Wildbills famous cowboy hatted loud talking bracelet guy and a couple of local sharks that are drooling at the site of me.

    Pokergoddess is our dealer and on the second hand she serves me up pocket queens. I am still very nervous and when bracelet guy goes all in from early position I quickly dump the ladies. Wildbill sees this and tells me I am way too tight for Tunica and that this is the butthead he played against at the last convention. Imagine anyone telling me I am too tight LOL.

    I look over at my my lovely, patient and understanding wife and feel sorry for her as she is obviously out of her league here at this table where these wolves will eat her up especially when the blinds get big. I watch her play knowing that she will not dare call or bet with less than Ace and a face. She wins a couple small pots when and ace flops and the sharks know she has one. A lot of folding goes on and then Zip wins a showdown with bracelet guy (I beleive Zip had AA or KK) and he is the first one gone.

    Goddess continues to serve me up KK, JJ, 10 10, and 55 twice in the next 10 hands but this group is so tight I win almost no chips overall. The next hand I look down to see that Goddess has sent me AA in the Big Blind (or so I thought) and everyone folds around to me. I shake my head flash my aces to Mike and throw my cards face down. Goddess shoves the blinds over to Mike and I reach out to grab them as I believe they are mine. Turns out I was the small blind. We all get a good laugh at my expense and I realize that I really should have just gone to bed as my mind is mush. I bust out 8th or 9th on pocket tens and wander off to shake off the nervousness. I wander over to a slot machine and win $30, then off to a black jack table and win a quick $100. I feel pretty good as i got my satellite entry fee loss back and head back to watch the rest of the satellite. The table is down to 4 players and Jennay is holding her own agianst these sharks. She, in seat 9 and the guy in seat 10 are definitely the short stacks and they are the blinds. They both go all in with KQ against the big stack in seat 1 and both bust out. her KQ was suited and we talk for a little while about late tourney tactics with a short stack and we determine that she did the right thing.

    We wander aimlessly and decide to check out the GoldStrike poker room. The waiting list is a mile long and we wander off to bed about 2:30 a.m. We are still both very amped up and cannot wait for morning to come and play in the 7am PSO event where I will erase the blunders of this evening and easily destroy my fellow PSO'ers.

  • #2
    Glen -

    Great Report! I really enjoyed meeting you and Dana. I can't wait for the next installment.

    And here I thought you folding those Aces were a combination of your tight play and my imposing presence - :lol:

    Kids... This is your brain. :!: And this is your brain on Vicodin! :?:

    Mike

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    • #3
      That is by far the funniest report I've read yet. You are a funny guy Forrest!!

      sZ

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      • #4
        As I sit here at the Gold Strike hotel room getting ready for todays (Sunday) no limit event I am trying to catch up on all the posts etc.

        Gump this is the most entertaining reading I have seen in a long time. I don't know what you do for a living but you should really consider writing as it was the best I have read in a long time.

        Thanks for the great post and REALLY.. you should consider writing as a career.

        Comment


        • #5
          Wish I had known about the Vicodin!! Did your mom never teach you about bringing enough to SHARE??

          8O

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