It’s taken me a while to post about the night I met a time traveller. I had to take time to reflect and determine if I was suffering from a brief spat of mental illness or did indeed meet a prophet from what I presume was the year 2030. After telling my family and a few close friends, I decided I had to come forward and share my story. Plus, after telling my Realtor Sara Maddock, she reminded me I have a blog that hasn’t been updated in a while.
The night was March 22 2013, my last night in Las Vegas. My mom and I wanted a girls trip, one where we could eat gourmet food, tan (read: burn) by a pool and see an All-Male Revue featuring Australia’s buffest blokes. We had been having such a great time in Sin City, but neither of us had really made any money. Our favourite past-time was hanging out at the slot machines, drinking as much free Chardonnays the cocktail waitresses could bring us. We hit up the quarter, nickel and even the penny slots. For whatever reason, my mom kept winning! She’d hit “max bet” over and over the the credits kept on piling on. Disregard the fact she’d keep playing until her money was lost. I, on the other hand, was a loser all around. I couldn’t win at slots and had decent luck at Roulette, but I hadn’t hit it “big.” Hell, I’d have been satisfied if I won enough to cover the cab fare we spent!
Considering it was our last night I decided I needed to go big or go home. Never mind the fact I was going home regardless, only 8 hours later on a direct flight to Detroit. I have responsibilities, people. I was debating between waltzing up to a black jack table and putting all the money I had left on one hand, or laying it down at the roulette table. I had been having the most luck with roulette. The big beautiful wheel had spun my way on more than one occasion so it was beckoning me towards it. Literally, beckoning. Black, put it all on black, it whispered. Black? You sure? I asked in earnest. Well, text Richard first, see what he says, it responded.
I decided I should listen to the magical roulette table and ask Richard for his opinion. Let me make it clear I was not on mushrooms or any other hallucinogens. As if I’d partake in those shenanigans with my mother present. I wish I had the forethought to screenshot my text convo with Richard. It was a doosey. His brilliant advise to me: Put it all on black, but only after the table lands on an odd number. I asked How sure are you? Is this for real? Richard assured me It’s wizard magic, yes it is real. I didn’t have time to get into how he came across the ancient practice of wizard magic but believed my husband. This was how I was going to win big.
Where is the f*cking time traveller part?! It’s why I came to your blog! This is what I’m guessing you’re asking. Relax, I’m getting there.
My mom and I posted up at the perfect vantage point. I could see all of the roulette tables and all of the screens that tell you what the last number was. My eyes would dart back and forth waiting for an odd number. I was ready to run to that table and lay down my chips, go big or still catch my flight tomorrow. There! The table to my right! An odd number! I ran over and was so excited, you have no idea. Wizard magic had never failed us before so why would it now?
It was then that a tall gentleman wearing an all-black trench coat, black hat and black sunglasses stopped me. Don’t do it. That’s all he said. I hadn’t put the chips down, I was waiting on the dealer to clear the table. I looked over at him, sized him up and thought Pffffft. Shut up. Idiot. He doesn’t know I have a foolproof plan. He said again, Don’t do it. What did I do? I put it down on black, of course. I wasn’t going to listen to some creepy stranger hovering over my mom and I in Last Vegas. The dealer called, No more bets, and the wheel started spinning. I was giddy watching that ball go round and round. It started to slow and I was nearly jumping up and down I was so excited to double my money. It was going slower and slower and my eyes were getting bigger and bigger when finally the ball stopped. Red! I shouted. What the hell just happened? I didn’t win. What? But, I listened to my husband and his gut feeling. I was stunned, dismayed, angry but more importantly annoyed with the stranger who knew it was going to happen.
I was annoyed someone could know exactly what was about to happen in my future and all he said was Don’t do it before walking away. I’m convinced he was a prophet from the future sent to Las Vegas to warn easily excited gingers from blowing all their cash. My quarrel with him, The Man In Black, is he could have made a bigger deal of it. Like, Don’t do it, you’re going to be really pissed for the next 24 hours. Trust me. I’m from the future. A little more gusto on his part and I would have listened. I looked around for him afterwards and he was gone as quickly as he appeared. Poof. I can only presume he went back to 2030 to tell the other Last Vegas guardian angels that another drunk gambler didn’t heed his warning.
I wanted to write this blog post to share my experience but more importantly to warn others. If you see The Man In Black, especially at The Venetian’s casino floor, don’t do what I did. Stop, evaluate his outfit, maybe ask if he’s from 2030, and listen to him.