Fired by a Crack Whore: Completing My Bucket List

Fired by a Crack Whore: Completing My Bucket List

By Don Hall

It was my third or fourth day at the Wild Wild West Gambling Hall & Hotel. I was obviously still in training and I had been assigned my first day shift — 5:30 a.m. – 2:30 p.m. The casino was pretty empty with a few hangers on from the graveyard shift, still drinking or well past drunk, playing slots or blackjack.

For clarity, the casino at the Wild Wild West is small — a sportsbook area with ten TVs, twenty-five seats, and three betting windows, a small bar that seats twenty, each with a poker machine embedded in the bar, and a slots area with roughly 170 games. For a sense of scale, Palace Station has 4,690 slot games and five full bars. Yes — I am the Ace Rothstein of The Days Inn. 

The surrounding area is rough around the edges and, while just a block off the Strip, the clientele is comprised of locals, guests of the adjoining Days Inn, and truck drivers utilizing the attached Truck Plaza and expansive truck parking available across the street. As I understand it, there are hookers at almost every casino in Vegas and we get the bargain basement version of the world’s oldest profession.

“Scush me?”

I turned around and there she was. Her skin was so black it was almost shimmery, and it was beautiful. She wore a pair of pink micro shorts and a teal top that demonstrated her ample chest. On her head was a pink kitty cat hat complete with fuzzy ears, and her eyes looked like a bloodshot version of the globes on the Children of the Corn. She was high as a kite.

One of the rules of the road is that anyone contributing to the property is welcome. This includes prostitutes not soliciting on the casino floor, playing slots, or buying her own drinks. Some look like college girls, some dress a bit flashier, and some are looking pretty rough — gilded with an obvious addiction to meth or crack, unwashed in most of the pertinent areas, and guaranteed to run off paying guests rather than offer a service anyone in their right mind would entertain.

Understand, I don’t have issue with the profession. If having sex for money is your chosen field, go for it says I. Knock yourself out. Be careful, be clean, and your sale is no different than mine: here’s my time and talent, here’s the compensation for it. I’d argue that artists, writers, and actors are closer to being whores than most occupations so to stand on some moral high ground smacks of the same kind of hypocrisy as a socially conservative Senator who blows dudes in truck stop bathrooms but lobbies against gays.

“Scush me? Can you give me some money?” she half croaked, half purred.

There are few truly forbidden things on a casino floor, but soliciting anyone for money is right there at the top of the list. “I’m sorry, darling, but you gotta go. I can’t allow you to solicit here in the casino.”

She mumbled some protest under her breath but started for the door. She knew the drill. As she approached the exit, she spun around with an energy she had yet to demonstrate and shrieked “YOU FIRED! YOU FIRED! I FIRE YOU! YOU FIRED!” It reminded me of that one time I was called out on video by a local storyteller.

Then she walked out of the establishment, her head held high. Yes — I was fired by a crack whore at 5:30 a.m. in Las Vegas. My bucket list is now complete.

Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of August 4, 2019

Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of August 4, 2019

Feeling Low? Visit a Bookstore or Attend a Funeral

Feeling Low? Visit a Bookstore or Attend a Funeral