Greektown Casino, Detroit Michigan – On a quiet spring night, My friends (Ed, Jody, Crute, Bell) and I all head down to the heart of motown for some light-hearted gambling.
After about 30 minutes and a combined debt of about $150.00, we decide to cut our losses, punch that bitch of a roulette dealer in her guts, and grab some overpriced psuedo-greek food at the in-house “restaurant”.
So yeah, we are like eating and basically disappointed by the whole shebang masking as a greek eatery (What good is saganaki with no flames? The ‘opa!’ just isn’t quite as exciting sans fire.) The one bright spot so far was the busboy and I use the term “boy” and “busboy” lightly, but I guess “old-greek-crazy-man-that-hacks the-english-language-and-randomly-brings-bottles-of-ketchup” wouldn’t be an efficient moniker, so lets stick with “busboy”. A comedy of errors including the much-talked about ketchup bottle incident, the mangled english, and just the plain old creepy stalker looks brightened my mood after paying $8 for a fucking Greek salad. Little did I know, things were about to get a lot more brighter for me. And when I say brighter I mean a near-death experience.
Its just a given that at about 1 a.m. certain things are just a lot funnier than those same things would be at 6 p.m. Its a fact. So after hearing the middleaged busboy mangle the words “mountain dew”, i get a large piece of pita bread lodged in my throat and I start choking, making those ever beautiful sounds of nature when one doesn’t chew his food correctly. Of course this is all to the humor of my friends, which didn’t help my situation any. I too wanted to laugh at myself choking and the visual of me dying further jammed the greek bread into my throat.
To make matters worse the busboy turns around to see what the fracas is, smiles at me and says to me in his monotone heavy-accented voice “You choke? You drink water.”
Now put yourself in my situation. Currently I have three huge obstacles to hurdle before I can breathe clean air again. Number one obstacle being the pita jammed in my trachea, two I can’t stop laughing at my own situation and three, the broken english advice from the barely decipherable busboy. To top it all off he is totally unaware that his presence is causing my friends to laugh more, thus making me laugh more, that in turn bringing me that much closer to death.
At this point i am panicking. I muster up the last of what breath I have and whispered “Make him go away” to my friend Ed, who probably didn’t hear my dying words over his own chortling.
Everything turned out to be ok. I rationalized that if I didn’t do something soon, I would lose consciousness or uh… die. So I buckled down, gave the busboy the stinkeye and drank some water. Pure genius.
Tags: Casino, Greektown, Michigan
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