I moved to Las Vegas in 1981. I had been there three times before,
twice, for a couple of days, when I was 16, and the third time, for about
a month, when I was 17. But this time, I planned on staying.
I loved every thing about Vegas. It was overwhelming... the lights, the
people, the money... it was an adult playground, in the middle of the desert, where
you could party 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.. and the sky's the limit... if you're at
least 21 years old, that is... Unfortunately I was only 19, so my limits were a little closer to the ground..
job was at a Wendy's hamburger place. You know, home of the "Hot And Juicy" hamburger...
Employees' even got a giant button, with the words "Hot And Juicy", in big, black, bold letters, to
wear.. Might as well have been wearing a sign that said "Demeaning, Sexual Comments Welcomed.."
I couldn't wait until my 21st birthday, but not because I wanted to gamble.
When I was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, ect., I didn't look sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, ect.,
so I could already gamble... What I couldn't do was work, in a casino... and that was where
the money was. Not slinging burgers for minimum wage. Which, by the way, was $3.35 an hour.
I was 22 when I started dealers school to learn to deal Blackjack.
God, it was so exciting.. me.. a Blackjack Dealer in 'Las Vegas'...
With in a year I was dealing at a major strip resort, The
Frontier Hotel and Casino. It was the job of a lifetime. The kind
every Dealer strives for. The kind of opportunity that only comes
along once... And there I was... and in less then a year..
Siegfried & Roy, before they left to perform at the
Mirage Hotel and Casino, were still performing there at that time.
The tokes (tips) were averaging at least $80 a night, Sunday through
Thursday, and $200 a night, on Fridays and Saturdays. I was so...for lack of a better, more discriptive word, happy..
but "happy", doesn't even come close, to describing the way I was
feeling... about my life... about my future... about myself... Maybe if
you added exultant, jubilant, ecstatic, and content, you might get
some of an idea...
You've heard the saying, "live and learn", right? Well, I don't really
know the "live" part, but when it comes to the learning, Vegas can be a
very dark, un-caring and un-forgiving place.
In the gaming industry, dealers are, pretty much, the only
employees that do not have a union.
Most casino businesses work on a
"..who you know.." and a "last one hired, first one fired..",
basis. So if, for example, the bosses daughter wanted to work there, usually,
the last one hired, was the first to go. So when such a situation arose,
I was the last hired, so I was the first to go. and I didn't take it very well at all...
I was living by myself at the time. Being so young, I was slightly stupid and
a bit naive, and since I could make my rent in one, or two days, at most, I was
kind of carefree and spendy with my money. In other words, I didn't usually
save any. So when I was let go, I didn't have any saved. I lost my apartment,
my car, and most of my stuff. That is when the depression
set in... and it hit me like a freight train..
It seemed like all I did was cry. I'd fall asleep crying, I'd wake up crying,
and then cry the whole day. The only time I wasn't crying, was when I was
asleep... if you're asleep, you don't think... if you don't think, you're not
depressed.. but you can only sleep so much..
That's why I started drinking...
Drinking is easy, and usually free, in Nevada, especially if you're
a female. That meant I could go anywhere in Vegas and drink for nothing.
That made drinking a very easy, and for me, free, way not to think, thus, easing
the depression... problem solved...or so I thought.
Because I wasn't much of a drinker, it would only take one beer to give
me a buzz. But after drinking everyday, all day, at the end of the first week, I'd be lucky if
I got a buzz after a 6 pack. I wasn't paying for them, so I didn't care how many it took,
cause if I was buzzed, I wasn't depressed..
On the day the space shuttle blew up, in 1986, I went to this little bar,
near where I was staying, to, what else... drink!
There, I met this guy, whom I later married, and we started seeing each other. He had a
brother who lived in Minnesota, so we decided to move up there.
In Minnesota, the beer has only
half the alcohol content as beer in Nevada. So instead of getting a buzz off of 6 beers, it took 12
of them. I was quickly turning into a lush.
The guy I went up there with, his name is Mike, and I, decided to go
back to Vegas. We'd stay with Mikes mother until we saved enough to get a place of our own.
We both got a job, working together, at a car wash, making minimum
wage and about $7 to $10 a day in tips... which was a far cry from what I was making dealing cards.
It's common knowledge, that people gain weight from drinking beer, as with drinking or eating anything. But what some people, like me, might not know is, that the weight a person gained from drinking beer, is nothing compared to the inches that it puts on...
That was until my uncle came to Vegas to visit.
The four of us (me, Mike,
my uncle and his wife) went to have our picture taken in front of the million
dollars at the Horseshoe Casino.
When I saw that picture I felt like crying... again. My thighs looked almost as big around as a Sparklets water bottle (give or take an inch or two). It was the biggest I had ever been, without being pregnant. It was a very rude awakening.
That is when I decided to quit drinking, straighten up and get back into dealing cards again.
It had been about a year since I had dealt, so I was pretty nervous. That's
because dealers do not apply for a position, they 'audition' for a position. That
means, you deal a few hands on a live game and if you don't make any mistakes, you will usually get the job.
I auditioned at the Nevada Palace Hotel and Casino, and was hired.
I was pretty proud of myself. After, quickly, going from one beer a month, to, at least, a six-pack a day, within a matter of a week, then spending the remainder of the year, drunk, I, alone, was able to pull myself out of a devastating, self-destructing slump.
I guess you could say... I fell off my horse, picked myself up, brushed myself off and got right back on...
You might think that would be the end of my story, and I lived happily ever after... but...
My boyfriend and I were working different shifts. I was working swing,
8pm to 4am, and he worked grave at the Showboat Hotel and Casino,
which has since been imploded, 3am to 11am. Since we only
had one car, he would drop me at work, then take the car home.
When he went to work, he would park the car across the street.
After I got off, I'd get a ride to the Showboat, get the car and come
back to pick him up when he got off.
On May 21, 1987, about two months after I started dealing again, I was
just getting back into the swing of things, getting my confidence back, you know,
stuff like that. I got off about 4am, or so, and got a ride to the Showboat to get the
car, but for some reason it wouldn't start. I tried it a few times, but nothing. The
battery started to sound a little week, so I decided to go across the street, play a
couple of quarters, and let it sit for a few, then come back out and try again.
I was in the Showboat about two hours, I had lost sixty bucks and only saw the
cocktail waitress twice, which kind of pissed me off, cause that meant it cost me $60
for two drinks. That's when I figured I better just go out and try starting the car again before I lost all of my money.
The last thing I remember, is walking out the front exit doors of the Showboat,
and saying to my boyfriend "if it doesn't start, I'll be back...".
Then, it was like I
blinked, and when I opened my eyes, I was in the hospital, I had a cast on my leg,
double vision, and all these tubes and monitors, hooked up to me. But the hardest
thing for me to believe, was that it was six days later.. (talk about waking up and not knowing where you are or how you got there)...
This is how I got there... or at least what I was told...
When I left the Showboat, I started to cross the street, and was hit by a
1986 Ford Ranger, going 55 mph. I was thrown one hundred and fifty feet. He hit
me so hard, it knocked me right out of both my shoes.
The front license plate broke
my leg, which explained the cast.., the right side of my head hit the ground first,
paralyzing a nerve in my left eye, which explained why I had, and still have, double
vision.., and the pain I was going through must have been so severe, that I blocked it
out. Which could explain why I couldn't, and still can't, remember any of it.
I was flown, by Flight for Life, to Valley hospital, where I spent the first few days in intensive care...
My story doesn't end there, but I have to take a break... If you're still interested in hearing the rest, come back and see me...
and thank you for listening...
****************************************************
Back to
DianeDebra
A bit about me
