Kenny and I like to get away every year in late summer or early fall, and every year he pitches the idea of going camping. It’s been 13 years now, but he remains hopeful, while I remain steadfast. I consistently win this debate by choosing hotels that include activities he likes (golf, fishing, winery tours). He gets to fish, I get a massage. Wedded bliss. This year we decided to weekend at a casino. Great rooms, lots of food, dancing, a little gambling, all in one place…How cool is that??
Checked in and were given a map of the grounds, with a big red X on our room, right on the casino floor (okay, we should have questioned that one, but we were in party mode). Quickly found our room, when I noticed a sign hanging on the bathroom door offering NOT to wash our sheets and towels during our stay, if we’d prefer to save water. Huh?? Say hi to the point of hotel travel…crisp clean sheets, fluffy clean towels. Otherwise it’s called “camping.” Checked the “No Thanks. We’re Horrible People and Don’t Care About the Planet” option, hung it on the door, and went out to see what we could do with a jar of quarters.
Hours later, broke but happy, we tumbled into bed, when we heard a loud cowboy-type drawl, right outside our door, exclaiming, “HOWDY PARDNER! YOU WANNA GET RICH?” WTH?? Then we heard it again. “HOWDY PARDNER! YOU WANNA GET RICH?” Seriously?? This went on a half-dozen more times, when Kenny finally threw on a robe and peeked out the door.
Directly outside our door was a large slot machine with Yosemite Sam, mustached and guns a-blazin’, on the front, and every time someone walked by (we’re on the CASINO FLOOR), he’d boom out his mantra. “HOWDY PARDNER!” All. Night. Long. Oh, HELL no.
Kenny pulled on his boots, and still wearing his fluffy white robe, instructed me to hold the door while he went out in the hall and proceeded to give ol’ Yosemite a swift, satisfying kick in ye’ old jewels, flipping the strategically placed off-switch and causing one final “HOWDY PARD-NEr-Nerr-nerrrr,” as he slowly went to sleep. By now, I was laughing so hard, I let go of the door and left Kenny on the casino floor wearing nothing but a robe and cowboy boots (a fact he found funny only after I let him back in).
We did mention to the front desk staff the next morning that “something happened” to Yosemite and he didn’t seem to be working. She whispered that “that happened a lot,” and they’d decided to move him away from the guest rooms. Good call.
As for Kenny? As we packed up the car, he relived Yosemite’s untimely demise and cracked up, “You’re right. That was more fun than camping.” Next year, I’m thinking the Hilton. They have water slides.