As I exited my car in a haste for my lost notebook bag, I did know that I left a hefty amount of hash oil in the bag. This normally would not be a problem. I would leave the notebook bag in a location in which I would know where this was. Once I picked up from what was once a great game to now a poor one (relatively for the stakes and location) to check in to the hotel I was staying at, it never crossed my mind, you should pick up that bag you leave your hand written journal (or as the judiciously inclined would call a diary). That journal was worth far more than anything else in there. Yet all it had was my words that I didn’t want others to hear. All I wanted was the journal.
I thought for a brief amount after ending a six hour session, that bag must be in my car. I had to have left it in there. I checked, and it was not there. Aha! It had to be in the hotel room. I checked, and it was not there. I knew I left it at the poker table. I’ll have to go to security to get it back…
It was a mistake to leave that seat forgetting that the bag was underneath my feet. I was too consumed with anger and rage. How dare this live player try to make a play on me! He only had a pair of fours that he somehow decided to turn into a bluff, and in my anger and haste all I could think was REVENGE! Get position on this person! I’M GOING TO 3BET YOUR EYEBALLS OUT YOU FUCKING PERSON ACTIVELY TRYING TO OUTPLAY ANOTHER PLAYER! SEAT CHANGE!
To someone who could only judge by the looks of the table though, I really had nothing to be angry about. I was at a table with eight rather poor players, and most of them had more than the maximum allowed initial buyin. Those two should make a guy like me overwhelmed with joy. Yet I was grumbling in agony. HOW DARE THESE PLAYERS PLAYING A GAME RIDDEN WITH VARIANCE BARE A WINNING SESSION AGAINST I! Two hours go by and a guy gets in A5dd on a AT9hh board vs. me for 200bb on the flop (he cbet 35, i make it 140, he shoves 1000 lolz). I win. Things should be awesome. If only I had the judgement in the moment to realize it…
I exit my car from the parking garage. This is typically where I get high. At least twice a day I smoke whatever I have left. It wasn’t much. I had a cigarette and a tiny amount of hash oil. I combine these two in a pipe to somehow get high. It is really not the most effective way to do it, but I have always had a trouble holding onto items. Like the device to actually smoke hash oil properly. That was lost in some hotel that I don’t recall. So I get high and decide, it is 2 AM, why not try to get that bag back? I knew what it had in there, but figured they would just hand that bag over to me. They did last time I left it at the table. Show up, tell them what it looks like, a few minutes later they return with the item. This time it worked out a bit differently…
I ask the man behind the security window, after he inquires what my name is, for the item I desire. He seems to not be able to locate this item, which is odd. I told him the table it would be at. Then he pulls up a picture of just the item. Odd. Don’t remember that happening last time. He tells me there is a notebook and three cords in there. Another man sitting next to him is staring at me intently. I am pretty sure they know at this point, but I don’t see any handcuffs yet.
“Wait, 10-15 minutes I got to call a supervisor and we’ll get it to you.”
Hmm, ok. I’m freaked out a little. Time to buy some more cigarettes. Haven’t smoked all day after reading a Tim Ferriss book trying to better myself and was feeling quite good physically up until this point. I tell myself that I’ll smoke a cigarette and run to the garage if I see some cops showing up. After buying and then smoking a cigarette, I return. The booth now has four people in there. I return to the window. The man I talked to earlier says, “there he is.” while a woman with a “specialist” tag now is manning the computer where he showed me the picture of the bag. She tells me it’ll be three more minutes. She is the only one sitting. The two people that were there previous have picked up from there chairs with glares on me. I knew something was going down and I sure hoped it wasn’t me to county jail.
I frantically embark to my hotel room. My nerves are shot. I am fucked. How did I do this? Go up the hotel elevator, go to my door. Try the first key. Red light. Oh shit. These fuckers are efficient. They already cancelled my hotel room. They had to have. I just got this key six hours ago. Try the second key. Green light. Run to the bathroom. Grab the shampoo I just bought. Grab the toothbrush. Throw off the ridiculous looking purple hoodie I got for $8 and promptly throw on a hat to disguise my appearance. I exit, go downstairs, and back to my car. No trouble. Start the engine and leave the garage. I even pay the $5 fee instead of getting it free because of a paranoia that the minimum wage person working this shift might know to hold me there.
How did I get away with this one? Will I get a detainment if I show up there again? I don’t know. There is a part of me that just wants to show up unabashed and not ashamed at what I had done. That security guy probably didn’t hear my name correctly and jot it down. That security team probably won’t look at the security footage and see it was myself who put that bag there. That security team probably… ah fuck. I can’t come back to this place again at least not in the near future. It is a shame too. I have made more money at this establishment than anywhere else.
Time to return to Sin City? I don’t know. I’d rather not think about it.