Seizing Up At The Facts

, , , , , , | Working | November 27, 2019

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(I am working as a paramedic at a local casino and am called to a patron having a seizure. By the time I get there, the patient is alert. He says he has epilepsy and forgot his medication this morning. I check his vitals and clear him to continue along. However, about twenty minutes later, I get called to the security office and find the patient there.)

Security Officer: “This guy is trying to scam us! Look at this tape!”

(The tape shows the patient stop walking suddenly, look around, lay on the ground, and then start seizing. The guy already signed to clear the casino of any liability when he refused transport.)

Me: “Yeah? So?”

Security Officer:So?! Look at that! He obviously faked the seizure so he can sue the casino!”

Patient: “I’m not suing; I already said that. I felt the seizure coming, so I laid myself down to try to minimize any harm to myself.”

Security Officer: “Bulls***! You can’t feel a seizure coming on! I’ve seen loads of medical shows, and seizures just happen randomly, or are always faked! Tell him, Doc.”

Me: “Actually, Mr. [Patient] is right. Most epileptic patients have an ‘aura’ or sense that they’re about to have a seizure.”

Security Officer: “D*** right if I believe that hockey! I’m calling the local PD to take him away, and a real ambulance to prove I’m right!”

(It took me and the ambulance crew that was called 20 minutes to convince the security officer and his supervisor that the guy was not trying to sue the casino. Once the local PD arrived, they told the patient he was free to go, and, if he wanted, could now sue the casino for unlawful detainment!)

This story is part of our Epilepsy roundup.

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Cashing Out Early

, , , , | Right | October 14, 2019

(I work at a combined hotel front desk and casino players club. While we do everything in one place, they are two separate systems; doing something in one doesn’t require doing anything in the other.)

Guest: “What can you do for me tonight?”

Me: “Your only offers are for Sunday through Thursday. Cheapest tonight is a smoking economy room for $79.99.”

Guest: “No, that is just way too expensive.”

Me: “Okay, well, you have $5 bonus cash; if you could just sign here to receive the bonus cash…”

Guest: “No, I don’t want the room; it’s too much.”

Me: “The bonus cash has nothing to do with whether or not you stay in the room; it’s yours to take either way. I just need you to sign before I can give it to you.”

Guest: “No, I want nothing to do with this place tonight.”

(The guest storms out.)

Next Guest: “Did they really just refuse free cash?”

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Delivery Is Always A Gamble

, , , , | Working | August 31, 2019

(The local casino is the lowest-ranked option on [Popular Food Delivery App] in our city. Since my partner works at the casino and gets a discount on food, we eat there fairly frequently and know the food to be quite tasty, so the low ranking is a bit of a mystery to us. Management at the casino has even made changes in the kitchen in an unsuccessful effort to improve the ranking. Then, my partner relays this story to me. A driver for [Popular Food Delivery App] comes to pick up an order at the casino. He takes the freshly-cooked food, puts it in his insulated bag, and sits down at a table to play roulette. After several minutes, one of the casino managers notices the driver playing roulette with the undelivered food at his feet.)

Manager: “Is our food in that bag?”

Driver: “Yeah.”

Manager: *incredulously* “Then go deliver it! Cash out right now.”

(The driver sheepishly took the food and left. He’d spent a total of 10 or 15 minutes at the casino with the order, between the time it took him to gamble and cash out. The managers have since started keeping a much closer eye on the delivery drivers!)

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What A Loser

, , , , , | Friendly | July 31, 2019

(During a vacation with my girlfriend, her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend, we stop in a casino. This particular casino allows smoking inside, but also has designated non-smoking areas, including a non-smoking casino. This is heaven for me, since my allergies have been acting up the whole trip and tobacco smoke, while normally just a smelly bother, is now making things worse. Within the first hour of our visit, three of us have rotten luck — unable to get even some baby wins to keep us playing a little longer — and want to jump back in our car and take off.)

Boyfriend: “Uh, I just ordered a beer.” *holds up a half-full beer bottle* “Can I finish it off?”

Sister: “Yeah, sure. What’s one beer, right?”

(My girlfriend and I agree. Due to how quickly each of us lost $50, we opt not to gamble anymore, instead waiting in a hall just outside the casino’s restaurant. The problem with that is that this put us directly adjacent to an area that allows smoking, and the air conditioning is blowing the smoke our way. I spend the next 15 minutes sneezing almost constantly with tears streaking across my face.)

Girlfriend: “He nursing that beer?”

Me: “I’ll find him. I need to head through, anyway.”

(Within the non-smoking casino is the nearest restroom, which in turn means it has the nearest tissues to blow my nose. Before I head there, I wander around the casino for a while until I find him.)

Me: “Hey, what’s up?”

Boyfriend: “Just playing. What’s up with you?”

Me: “The girls and I are getting killed by the smoke and would like to leave.”

Boyfriend: “Sure. Just let me finish my beer.” *holds up a nearly-full bottle*

(I shrug and make my way to the restroom. Yes, he ordered another beer. But since he knew we wanted to leave, I conclude he has to be on a hot streak, and I’m not about to break it. I rejoin the girls and relay all of this, and we agree to wait. So begins a 30-minute wait of pure agony for me. Over the course of this, I cross to the restroom a few more times, trying to see how he’s doing each time. Each time, he’s too engrossed to look up, and I ignore him thinking he’s winning. On the last trip, as I am making my way back to the girls, I bump into his girlfriend, who is extremely cranky at this point. I direct her to where I last saw her boyfriend to see what she can do.)

Sister: “[Boyfriend]! What the f***?”

Boyfriend: “Oh, hey! What’s up?”

Sister: “We want to go! Finish up!”

Boyfriend: “C’mon! I’m feeling lucky!”

(At that, she leans over and whispers into his ear. I don’t know what she says, but from the way his face lights up, it has to be dirty.)

Boyfriend: “Just let me cash in!”

Sister: “Five minutes!”

(We resume our positions, and five minutes turns into ten.)

Sister: “Let’s go! If he’s winning this much, he can take a limo back to the hotel!”

(We pile in and drive off. Probably two hours later, I get a call. Guess who?)

Me: “Hey, [Boyfriend]! Where are you?”

Boyfriend: “In front of [Casino]’s parking lot. Where are you guys?”

Me: “We took off a while ago.”

Boyfriend: “Oh. So… when can I expect you?”

Me: “We’re not dropping everything for you. Take your winnings and get a car.”

Boyfriend: “I don’t have any winnings. I’m broke.”

Me: “What do you mean, you’re broke? You kept going after your luck soured?”

Boyfriend: “No, I had no luck all day.”

Me: “So, why the f*** did you keep playing when we wanted to leave?”

Boyfriend: “I figured my luck would have to change eventually and I’d get it back.”

(Despite my better judgement, I dropped everything to get him. He never told me personally how much he lost, but the tongue-lashing he got continued until the following morning, and based on the clothes scattered around their room, I’m pretty sure there was suspicion he was trying to hide his winnings. The rest of the trip was tense, with none of us talking to him. Once the trip was over — and I mean, immediately upon dropping him off at his apartment — the sister broke up with him.)

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Double The Pasta, Half The Sense

, , , , , | Right | July 16, 2019

(I am working the sauté pasta station at a buffet in a casino. There are four types of pasta, three types of meat, assorted vegetables and aromatics, and two standard sauces — marinara and alfredo — to customize your pasta. It’s not unusual for people to request two types of pasta in one dish.)

Customer: “Fettuccine linguine with chicken.”

Me: “What kind of sauce?”

Customer: “Fettuccine linguine and chicken.”

Me: “What kind of sauce?”




Me: *passive aggressively prepares his pasta with both fettuccine and linguine*

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