To the People

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Monday, January 05, 2009

Vegas Vacation Part 1

It really was a slight misunderstanding. I thought that I could have a buddy wire me money to the name on my fake id. Not thinking that check forgery and fraud might be something that a casino might actually care about. Why I didn't have him send it to my real name, I have no clue. Well, I do have a clue, losing a few thousand and coming off a 40 hour bender tends to not leave you in the best frame of mind for making decisions.

So I went to collect the cash. I quickly realized that I needed to sign and give a thumbprint. Why this might be enough to turn the average person around, I forged ahead, determined to get myself in some sort of trouble before I even checked into my room. Or before I even met the friends that I was there to see. I had actually flown out there prior to the rest of the group getting out there; just to guarantee myself the maximum amount of time to be a destroyer.

I go up to the counter, she hands me the check, or whatever you sign. I hadn't even bothered to check the signature on the id before I went up there. Not to mention it was an old-style jersey license when they were laminated. Expired, I had at some point peeled the top off and changed the exp date. It was a mess. Worked most of the time, but a real mess.

So here I am trying to glance down at the signature on the DL so I can try to copy it. The counter lady just looking down at the absolute wreck I was attempting to obviously forge a signature. I do like 3 loops and a scribble. She proceeds to tell me that it looks nothing like the actual signature and makes me try again. I of course get all indignant about it, because I'm your typical upper middle class, entitled college kid and who does this lady think she is telling me that I'm not Tim XXXX of Summit, NJ. I go at it again, this time worse than before. She takes it walks to the back and grabs someone. I still have no idea that this might not be heading for a positive conclusion.

She doesn't come back, but one uniformed officer does and another plain clothes (I kid you not, mid 50's handlebar mustache and a leather vest...leather vest) guy both saddle up next to me, grab my arms and tell me..."If this is you we will straighten it out and you will get your money. If something is going on, you tell us now and we can prevent this from getting out of control" I finally get it that I'm not getting my money, but I figure I tell them I'm underage, it’s a fake ID..They kick me out and we are all good.

I tell them it's a fake. Then they decided to get serious. Picked me up...actually picked me up by both arms, dragged me through a side door, down a hall and into a small, padded room with a video camera, bench, computer and desk. At this point I begin to think this might not end so quickly. I’m also fucked up and haven’t snapped back to sobriety yet. I can’t be sure but if I had to guess I wasn’t too cooperative and I think that didn’t help the situation much.

The interview consisted of about 4 parts, lasting a total of 4-6 hours all of it handcuffed sitting awkwardly on a wooden bench (I think…this was a few years ago now). The first part was the most thrilling and shit in your pants inducing part. I was treated to a good cop bad cop. Like I was amazed, I didn’t know people actually did this. Of course bad starts off, giving me a mild beating and ending with me handcuffed lying down on the bench. I say mild beating because that’s what it was. A lot of grabbing and throwing up against the walls, holding my face down against the padded wall, uncomfortable enough…but I think it was meant to keep me from breathing for 30-45 sec at a time to freak me out. No marks besides some bruises on the arms. All the while yelling at me about whom I was where I was staying and who with. When I started to really worry about my safety was the stuff about my international check forgery ring. International check forgery ring….(I learn later once we all become friends that they had some known check forgers doing “jobs” in the area. I’m not sure if I believe them, but they were very agitated about something in the beginning.)

I’m fucking out there and can’t answer anything. I blank on the names of most of my friends and the ones I do remember have names like Sara. And I can’t pull the last name. I tell them I’m staying there (Luxor). I have no clue whose name the reservation is under however. This infuriates the one guy more and I’m yelling at them to grab my cell phone and call these people to verify who I was and that I was staying in the hotel. They were trying validating my story, which incidentally was the truth. I was a dumb college kid who used his fake id for the wire and the money was intended for me. They won’t touch my cell phone, which is odd because they didn’t mind touching me. This stuff settles down. In the meantime my friends began to wonder where I was. I’m unsure of the process, but they ended up talking to the “bad cop” plain clothes handle bar mustache guy outside my padded room.

[Side note: I was staying with 6-9 girls. Not a single guy with me. Not one. I had like history with 2 or 3 of these girls too. I was destined to bone at least one of these chicks, no effort at all. I basically just needed to be in a room at 5am one night. So much for that]

I’m actually less confident now, even though I have the nice uniformed guy alone with me, pouring water down my mouth telling me that more than likely this just becomes a good story to tell if my story ends up checking out.. I also know that I’m not going to end up taking a real beating. Sounds silly now to say that, but at the time it was a real worry. I specifically remember saying…”Well, I’m all for a good story, but if I end up spending more than a night in jail over this and going to court, it’s gonna take awhile for me to laugh at it. What are my odds of making it out of here?” him..with a tone, like I should be happy with his answer…”50-50”…I wasn’t too fond with those odds.

Part 2 to come...

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