In the blink of an eye

       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 everything about Vegas. It was overwhelming. The lights, the people, the money... 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.

   One of those limits had to do with employment. Since Vegas is made up of mostly casinos, and because I wasn't old enough to work in a casino, my first job was at a Wendy's hamburger place. You know, home of the "Hot and Juicy" hamburger. Employee's 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, etc., I didn't look sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, etc., so I could already get away with gambling. What I couldn't do in a casino was work. And that was where the money was. Not slinging burgers for minimum wage. Which, by the way, was $3.35 an hour.

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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 than 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 couldn't believe how great things were going. I was so happy. I remember leaving work one night thinking, "something is going to happen because I am just too happy...".
You've heard the saying "live and learn", right? Well, I never got the chance to find out about the "live" part, but when it comes to learning, Vegas can be a very dark, uncaring and unforgiving place.
In the gaming industry back then, dealers were, pretty much, the only employees that did not have a union.

Most casino businesses worked on a

"Who you know..."

and a

"Last one hired, first one fired..."

basis. So if, for example, the boss's 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 one 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 day, two at the 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.
I really hate to cry, and it seemed like that's all I did. The only time I wasn't, was when I was asleep. If you're asleep, you don't think... If you don't think, you are 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 only one week of drinking every day, all day, I'd be lucky if I got a buzz after a six-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 only has 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 Mike's mother until we'd 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.

Now to most, it's common knowledge that people gain weight from drinking beer, as with drinking or eating anything. But what some people, like me, did not know is that the weight a person gains 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 downtown, 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 a very rude awakening. That's when I decided to quit drinking, straighten up, and get back into dealing cards again.

    Because it had been about a year since I had dealt, I was pretty nervous. That's because dealers do not apply, they "audition". 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-destructive 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'd lived happily ever after. But for me, it was just the beginning of the end.

My boyfriend and I were working different shifts. I was working swing, 8 p.m. to 4 a.m., and he worked graveyard at the Showboat Hotel and Casino, 3 a.m. to 11 a.m..  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 the 21st, 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 4 a.m. 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 dollars and only saw the cocktail waitress twice, which kind of pissed me off, cause that meant it cost me sixty bucks 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 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 a hundred and fifty feet, knocked me right out of both my shoes, which landed about 50 feet apart. 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...

At first, the hospital had me down as 'Jane Doe'. That was until they found my name on a piece of paper, that I always carried in my purse. The paper said ''In case of emergency, please contact...".
My Parents, and my boyfriends' mothers, numbers were on it. First they called my boyfriends mother. She told them to call the Showboat Hotel because he was there working, which they did.

When the nurse in the emergency room talked to my boyfriend, all she told him was that I had been in an accident. He assumed I was in the car at the time. He had arranged for a co-worker to give him a ride to the hospital, but he had to wait till the shift was over. He had no idea the car was still in the parking lot across the street...

When I first opened my eyes in the hospital, after what seemed like only a blink, the first person I saw was my boyfriend. I must have had a look of confusion on my face because, without my saying a word, he said, "you were hit by a truck, walking across the street". Then he told me that it had happened six days before... What to me was just a blink, was six days.

This accident happened around the same time the 'Flight for Life' helicopter program, through Valley Hospital, first began. It had to be a "life or death" situation to merit sending the F.F.L. helicopter to transport. Usually when it went out though, it made the news. However, in my case, not only did it not make the news that a pedestrian was hit by a speeding vehicle, but the fact that 'Flight for Life' was dispatched didn't either. Worse yet, it wasn't even thought important enough to make the newspaper.

Funny, there was all that commotion, the horns, the screeching of tires, the sirens, the police having to block off enough of Boulder Highway to land a helicopter, and the landing of a helicopter, not to mention the backed up traffic... all of this going on right in front of the Showboat, and nobody inside knew it was happening.

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City of Sin

This is Las Vegas, "City of Sin".
It's here people visit, in hopes they will win.

For some it's a blessing, others a curse,
For some, will leave wealthy, and some in a hearse.

'Cause drinking is easy, and usually free,
They'll keep serving liquor until you can't see.

Then comes a sickness, brought on when you lose,
That adds to the anger, brought on by the booze.

They call it "The Fever", it's easily caught,
and outrageous fortunes, are usually sought.

But this is 'Las Vegas', how soon we forget,
this town makes it's money, when you lose a bet.

Just looking at Vegas, it's easy to tell,
a number of tourists, don't do very well.

They come here excited, to reap on the fame,
and leave Vegas wishing they'd never have came.

But they'll be returning, 'cause everyone does,
For a "sinful" good time, and one hell of a buzz...