A Vicodin Song

Driving home tonight, I heard a comedian doing a bit about Vicodin on the “24/7 Laughs” station I generally listen to.  It really wasn’t that funny, but it made me remember a personal Vicodin experience.

It was actually the last night I worked at my official *job* at the casino.  A Friday night before a holiday weekend, crazy busy and I tore a ligament in my hand during a round of poker that was not noteworthy in any other way.

The only other thing that needs to be said about the lead up, was that I reported the injury, someone drove me over to the hospital, and I really don’t even remember what all went on with that except I was given Vicodin almost immediately. Before I was drug tested.  That does not play any future role in the story;  it has just always struck me with awe at how wrong it was.   In my experience, if you go to be treated directly from work for an injury sustained at work, you pee in a cup before they are at all interested in hearing anything you have to say about said injury.

Anyway- Blah Blah Blah. Then- they tell me , “we’ll need you to go back to work to finish filling out the paperwork”.  Again?  Thinking back on this sober? Oh my, how very wrong.  I remember *thinking* that I would do the paperwork at the security station? Or the first aid station? Or something that made some sort of sense. .. but no. They told me it was waiting for me back up at the poker room with one of my supervisors.

I roll in and it’s like a madhouse.  Any Friday night was usually super busy, but this was doubly insane.   The floor supervisors on duty at that point knew I had been injured and I was coming to do some paperwork before being dismissed, but they were too busy to really pay attention. In fact, the Night Manager was just like,  “Can you just hang on for a little bit?”   Me: “Oh sure. I have nothing else to do”  (and pre-Vicodin, I knew I would pass my drug test, so I was getting paid …)

So I’m just sorta standing there at first, bullshitting with some of the regulars I liked, and I guess I must have been starting to *seriously* feel the effects because I very clearly remembered thinking “Wow.  This is so great!!! They are all just working and I’m all like..hanging out.”  Evidently, I was not the only one that was having that latter thought because it wasn’t very long at all before Mr Boss was all like  “Lay? Do you think you might be able to work thru your pain and help out a bit until I can deal with you?”  “Oh sure… ”

Another drop of background information so that this next bit make sense.  This was my second era of employment at this casino.  The first time, I had been a “Dual-Rate Supervisor,”  the first position of casino management. It simply meant you had two jobs.  Some days, I would be scheduled as a dealer and other days, I was scheduled to “stand floor” and supervise in the poker room (suit up).  When I came back, I absolutely refused to take that position.  I had no issues occasionally doing a few of the tasks, but I wanted no part of it in an official capacity.  I just wanted to deal the cards and go home.

So when Mr. Boss said that, I just went into the *DESK AREA*  and made myself busy.   Everything was fine, really, at first. But then, a very harried dual rate handed me the microphone and told me “get Bill Smith to his seat.”   This is when it all fell apart.

I am *howling* into the microphone: “BILL SMITH!!!!! BILL SMITH!!!!!!!! YOUR POKER SEAT IS READY!!!!!!”  .. “BILL SMITHHHHHHH”

I hear a quiet voice right next to me “Layla, I’m right here. ”


By this point,  the players are starting to see that …ok, something is not right with Layla.  More than a few of them are just dying laughing .  Well- Bill Smith  sits down, but I keep the microphone.  And I am answering *everything* in the microphone.

“what happened to you?”

“I did something to my hand earlier. “

“you’re really acting strange….did they…. did they give you something at the hospital?”

“Oh My God. I am SO fucking high!”

THEN- they took the microphone away from me.  Very quickly.  They had ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD to get my paperwork done and find someone:  just *anyone* to drive my high ass home.  I remember that was a LOT of fun!!!!!


~ by Layla on August 5, 2011.

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