9 PM. Eastern Standard Time.

January 2008. We’re back at the Rio. I’m playing particularly poorly and a tad out of control. Three consecutive spins on the roulette wheel: $200 Red. Lose. $300 Red. Lose. $500 Red. Lose. That kind of play. I’m pretty sure this is the trip I sat in the same blackjack seat for 17 straight hours. (I did get up to use the restroom a few times.) The only good that came of any of this was that I got my platinum Harrah’s players card. But is that really a good thing? Depends on who you ask, I guess.

So anyways, this beating lasts a few days and I’m running low on ammo. Light bulb goes off. I’ll take some money out of my retirement account. I dart up to my suite and call my broker. He sounds pretty irritated that I’m calling which is not normal. I’m a bit whacked out after gambling and drinking heavily for literally two straight days, and I ask him to cash out x-amount of my investments. He then proceeds to tell me that it is 9 PM on Friday night back at home and that the markets wouldn’t be open until Monday morning. I had no idea what day it even was.


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