In Vegas, I was fruitlessly searching for a stud poker game when my internal clock went off. The Steelers were about to kick off their first preseason game. I ducked into the casino's sports book, where I found a half dozen Steelers fans assembled in front of a large screen TV. One of us brought a Terrible Towel. God, we're pathetic.
Nearby was a man around 80, and he sat in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank mounted on it. He didn't move or interact with us. I couldn't even tell what he was watching. He seemed five minutes from death, tops. And then a really ugly woman pulled a chair up next to him and started giggling, holding his hand and stroking his hair. In short, she was behaving like a really ugly hooker might.
When she suggested that he really wanted to buy her a drink and then, without acknowledgment, got up to get herself that drink, I walked over to the guy. He looked terrified. "Do you want me to make her go away?" I said. And then he wheezed the only word he would all night.
"Please."
When the hooker returned, I told her he wasn't interested. She put her arm around him and said that was nonsense. I got more assertive. So did she. I accused her of scamming a guy who couldn't defend himself. Soon, she was spewing insults my direction, the gist of which were that my fat ass should mind its business and not her own.
"Speaking of fat, do you know what the difference is between you and me?" I said. "My prodigious gut isn't hanging out for everyone to see."
And then she slapped me. While I walked toward the pit boss, she grabbed her stuff and fled. And then I sat down and promptly saw Charlie Batch break his collarbone. Thanks for the solid, god.
Still, it's hard to complain. I got slapped by a Vegas hooker for free.