getting robbed at Los angeles Casinos

[pnazari]

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Good post title, huh? I actually posted this a hundred years ago, everybody who read it except me and Zee are probably dead so here it is again.

Back in the early '80s, I have a big night at the biggest game in the cardroom, which was 15-30 lowball. I cash out and stuff all the money into my pockets. I check my watch: 1:57. I'll take a leak and head on home.

Into the bathroom I go. Nobody else in there. I pull up to a urinal and begin the process. After a few seconds, I feel the presence of somebody standing behind me. You know how you kind of sense it, you can't tell whether you hear something, or feel something, but you know somebody's there? I take a casual glance to my left, craing to see if somebody's there with my peripheral vision. Nothing. Then to my right.

There he is, I see him out of the corner of my eye. Just behind me. Big, black guy. Six-six at least. I'm the most non-prejudiced person I know. At least I thought I was. Adreniline starts to poor out my ears. I can feel my heart beating through my shirt and I'm afraid it's going to start banging into the urinal. Urine ceases to flow throw my whatever it flows through.


He's just standing there, maybe two feet behind me. All the other urinals are unoccupied.

I decide I'll wait him out. After all, it's almost 2:00, the bar'll be closing, the bathroom will be postiviely flooded (no pun intended) with inebriates any minute. Five seconds go by; ten; fifteen. It felt like fiteen decades. Sweat literally starts to drip off of me; I think it is urine sweat.

Finally, I decide to confront him. I carefully tuck the family jewels back into my pants and wheel around.

"WHADDYA WANT?" I scream, hopefully loud enough for those in neighboring municipalities to hear me.

"Nothing, man," he says. "That's my lucky stall."


Friggin' poker players . . .

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