year of law school I had to fly to LA for call bac k interviews, and I planned to stay with my good friend "Junior" while there . Junior is 5'9", well built, half-Italian half-Arabic, with light green eye s and olive skin. He's got that "dark with light eyes" look that that wome n lose their shit over. I knew Junior from Florida, where he used to wor k for my father. We became friends because he is one of the few peopl e I've ever met in my life who not only does better with women than I do-WAY better, actually-but simply put, he can not only keep u p with me, he can exceed me at times. Not many people can .
He lived in Santa Monica and was attending UCLA at the time. I arrive d in LAX around 8pm on a Thursday, intending to party all weeken d and go to my interviews on Monday. Junior was there to pick m e up . Junior "Hey, what's up man? " Tucker "Not much, what's up with you? " Junior "Nothing. Let's go to Vegas. " Tucker "Well ... OK. "
By about 8: 15, Junior and I were on our way. I didn't even drop m y bags off at his place. Halfway there, in some shit-bag cow town calle d Barstow, Junior tells me to exit the highway and pull into a place calle d "In-N-Out." I was not impressed :
"Dude, where are we going? This place looks like shit. " Junior glared at me like I had turned down sex with Penelope Cru z and said nothing. He insisted that we go inside, as he said that on e couldn't properly drive and give these burgers the attention necessar y at the same time. He ordered me the Double-Double, and looking at it , I was still unimpressed. It's just a fucking hamburger .
I have only fallen in love three times in my life, and the first bite of tha t
Double-Double was one of those times. The crispy bun complimenting the cool lettuce, the special sauce accentuating the fresh tomato, the sweet meat mixing with the salty cheese, all of it coming together in a harmonious medley of flavor thus far unseen on the American fast food landscape-I was smitten. It was the single greatest fast food meal in the history of civilization. Even though I was full, I immediately ate another Double-Double. I was nearly in tears at this meal, it was so transcendently excellent. Those fuckers should hire me as a spokesman.
This is me eating an In-N-Out burger-from the looks of it, my second of the day. I look pissed because pausing to pose for the picture is keeping me from my Double-Double.
Junior insisted that he drive for the second half of the trip. I didn't understand why until we pulled onto the strip; had I been behind the wheel, I would have wrecked. I am not a big fan of the movie Swingers, but I have to give it to Favreau, he really nailed the scene "where they come over the mountain and see the lights of Vegas. I was like a child, I was so completely fixated by the flashing bright lights and shiny things everywhere. Times Square has nothing on driving into Vegas.
We pull into the Bellagio around 1am and immediately sit at the $25 blackjack tables and start playing. And drinking. And winning. Before I realize it, I am drunk, Junior and I are screaming, and we have collected quite the crowd around our table. We were "that table."
Everyone who has been to Vegas, or really any casino, knows the table I'm talking about: The one with the guys standing up, cheering at every winning hand, cursing at every losing hand, making ludicrous bets that payoff, yelling at everyone within earshot, ordering drinks for the entire floor, telling random onlookers to bring us food, grabbing the asses of cocktail waitresses, demanding the pit boss comp a room and some whores-that was us.
There were many aspects to The Tucker and Junior Gambling Show : We called every dealer, no matter what his or her name, "Slappy." W e would routinely threaten every Slappy with bodily injury : Junior "If you beat my 20, I'm gonna kick you right in the crotch. " Tucker "I swear on my grandmother's dried up decomposing corpse, i f you draw a five card 21, I'll punt your
He lived in Santa Monica and was attending UCLA at the time. I arrive d in LAX around 8pm on a Thursday, intending to party all weeken d and go to my interviews on Monday. Junior was there to pick m e up . Junior "Hey, what's up man? " Tucker "Not much, what's up with you? " Junior "Nothing. Let's go to Vegas. " Tucker "Well ... OK. "
By about 8: 15, Junior and I were on our way. I didn't even drop m y bags off at his place. Halfway there, in some shit-bag cow town calle d Barstow, Junior tells me to exit the highway and pull into a place calle d "In-N-Out." I was not impressed :
"Dude, where are we going? This place looks like shit. " Junior glared at me like I had turned down sex with Penelope Cru z and said nothing. He insisted that we go inside, as he said that on e couldn't properly drive and give these burgers the attention necessar y at the same time. He ordered me the Double-Double, and looking at it , I was still unimpressed. It's just a fucking hamburger .
I have only fallen in love three times in my life, and the first bite of tha t
Double-Double was one of those times. The crispy bun complimenting the cool lettuce, the special sauce accentuating the fresh tomato, the sweet meat mixing with the salty cheese, all of it coming together in a harmonious medley of flavor thus far unseen on the American fast food landscape-I was smitten. It was the single greatest fast food meal in the history of civilization. Even though I was full, I immediately ate another Double-Double. I was nearly in tears at this meal, it was so transcendently excellent. Those fuckers should hire me as a spokesman.
This is me eating an In-N-Out burger-from the looks of it, my second of the day. I look pissed because pausing to pose for the picture is keeping me from my Double-Double.
Junior insisted that he drive for the second half of the trip. I didn't understand why until we pulled onto the strip; had I been behind the wheel, I would have wrecked. I am not a big fan of the movie Swingers, but I have to give it to Favreau, he really nailed the scene "where they come over the mountain and see the lights of Vegas. I was like a child, I was so completely fixated by the flashing bright lights and shiny things everywhere. Times Square has nothing on driving into Vegas.
We pull into the Bellagio around 1am and immediately sit at the $25 blackjack tables and start playing. And drinking. And winning. Before I realize it, I am drunk, Junior and I are screaming, and we have collected quite the crowd around our table. We were "that table."
Everyone who has been to Vegas, or really any casino, knows the table I'm talking about: The one with the guys standing up, cheering at every winning hand, cursing at every losing hand, making ludicrous bets that payoff, yelling at everyone within earshot, ordering drinks for the entire floor, telling random onlookers to bring us food, grabbing the asses of cocktail waitresses, demanding the pit boss comp a room and some whores-that was us.
There were many aspects to The Tucker and Junior Gambling Show : We called every dealer, no matter what his or her name, "Slappy." W e would routinely threaten every Slappy with bodily injury : Junior "If you beat my 20, I'm gonna kick you right in the crotch. " Tucker "I swear on my grandmother's dried up decomposing corpse, i f you draw a five card 21, I'll punt your
Similar Books
The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey Into the Minds of Sexual Predators
Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood
